


Tame the Wild Heart

by Light_Beyond_Nemesis



Category: Frontier (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M, Historical Romance, It becomes pretty obvious who my dream man is, Perhaps a little smut, frontier life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2020-10-26 01:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 107,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20734280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Light_Beyond_Nemesis/pseuds/Light_Beyond_Nemesis
Summary: Coralee Cassidy is a runaway slave that made the treacherous, dangerous journey from a plantation in South Carolina to Montreal, Canada. For three years she’d been free, but now her life will be forever changed when she crosses paths with a man named Declan Harp. She will learn what it means to yearn for another with every aching bit of her heart, and in turn, she will tame his wild heart and claim it for her own.





	1. The Dog that Followed the Cat that Chased the Mouse that Captured the Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> [This story begins before the events of Frontier. It will most likely intersect pieces of the show.]

Freedom. Nothing quite felt like it, and the price of it was high these days. Especially for negroes in the New World. Coralee Cassidy was a runaway slave. She escaped Sunset Fields plantation when she was sixteen with the help of other slaves, whites, and Natives. The journey was long, taking her from South Carolina all the way to Montreal, Quebec, where she was housed by Elizabeth Turner Rollins, a fine and respectable woman who made it her business to help those in need when she could.

Coralee flipped over in bed and shivered, frowning. Another brisk Canadian morning.

She stretched and tossed back the blankets and furs, swinging her feet over the mattress. She pulled her socks up higher over her bed pants, went to the basin to wash up, then got dressed. Before the young woman left her room, she studied her reflection in the mirror over her vanity. Her caramel-colored skin was smooth and flawless, hazel eyes set somewhat widely apart, lending her an even more exotic look. A full mouth and strong nose accompanied the small beauty mark offset to the right just above her top lip. Thick, soft, kinky hair had been pulled back in a series of braids that reached the middle of her back. She made a lovely vision in a light green dress with a medium-cut bosom, the garment accentuating her slim waist and comely figure.

Today was her birthday. She was nineteen. Three years since she’d left Master Cassidy’s clutches, and not a day passed that she didn’t think about her mother and two brothers. She wanted very badly to go back and try to free them so they could experience life as she now did. Weren’t no slavery in the far north, only people trying to survive. Life was hard at times but having the _freedom_ of choice was worth it.

She realized after leaving the plantation that the white man’s hands were in everyone’s business, not just the negroes. The tribals of the New World were also being hindered by them, hounded for their resources and land, the furs.

Oh, the fur trade. Just as much money in it as there was in cotton plantations. Maybe more.

But, Coralee couldn’t bother to worry over all that too much. Everyone had it hard, and she escaped one of the harshest living conditions one could ever hope to be in. Now she was free.

Free.

She sighed and took a breath to push back the sadness settling in like mountain fog rolling down into a valley. Maybe one day she’d be able to go back for her family. She would certainly never lose that hope.

Wrapping on her shawl, Coralee left her room, thinking that things were kind of quiet that morning. The finely carved clock on the wall in the corridor said it to be just before nine. Floorboards issued soft creaks as Cora made her way to the steps and descended.

“SURPRISE!” screamed half a dozen voices, her closest friends in those parts. Miss Elizabeth, Darlene Snyder, Enid McNamara, Mary Sue Connor, Aurora Dunlevy, and James Byers.

All the women lived in the house. James stayed a couple of streets over. He worked for Miss Elizabeth by doing odd fix-up jobs and yard stuff, unofficially taking on the role as protector of their establishment. The name of Elizabeth’s business was Betty and Company. She and the ladies made jams, jellies, cakes, cookies, pies, and pastries. The front end of the large house served as a store for all their goods, and it did very well. By the end of most days, all the desserts were gone.

Cora’s smiling eyes eased over all her friends, a hand sweeping to her chest. “Oh, my heavens! Ya’ll sure know how to jump a woman’s heart into her throat!” came her southern drawl.

Last year, they surprised her with a huge party in the backyard, including a dinner fit for a queen. As Cora came off the steps and further into the room, she saw that a grand breakfast awaited in the dining area, all kinds of yummy things lining the long table.

“Happy birthday, my dear,” said Elizabeth, moving in to hug her.

The other women did the same.

“Thank you all,” Cora said, warmed by their kindness. Before leaving the plantation, she never thought any white person would be nice to someone like her. However, it was because of the brave actions of some white men and women that she was free, some even giving their lives for the cause. Getting off that plantation had opened Cora’s eyes and perspective. She didn’t see the people standing around her as a sprinkle of white faces. No. They were her friends, her family, and she’d lay down her life for them if she ever had to.

James stepped forward and cleared his throat, the touch of a blush kissing his chill-reddened cheeks. He held out something wrapped in festive material and tied. A gift.

Cora smiled and took it. “Oh, James. You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know, Miss Cora, but when I saw it, I knew you’d like it,” the young Scotsman answered. His parents had moved over to the New World when he was four. He was a couple of years older than Cora.

Cora went to the table, set the gift down, then delicately drew back the ties and undid the flaps of cloth. “My...it’s perfect! Thank you, James!” The young woman held up the hand-warming muff for the other ladies to see.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “S’made from fox pelt. Thought it would be good since your hands get so cold.”

“I love it.” She rubbed across the soft white and red-brown fur. It was the middle of fall now. The snows would start soon as winter settled in. “You know me so well. I may have lived here for a while, but I’m a southern girl, and this cold is enough to bite me through to bone sometimes.”

They all laughed with her, then ate breakfast.

◄☼►

All of the women living under Miss Elizabeth’s wing pulled their weight, Cora included. They, along with a handful of hired workers, tended to the baking, jams, and jellies. The hired workers, of course, didn’t stay on the premises; they came in each day. Aside from helping at Betty and Company, Cora had taken on as a serving girl at popular tavern not far off. Enid, a couple of years older, also worked there as a barmaid.

McClintock’s.

The place was busy most nights, and that night it was in full swing.

Cora dodged and spun to avoid a group of jolly patrons, each hand holding a mug of ale. She reached her destination and set the drinks down before a pair of gentlemen in peacoats. The well-to-do type. She mustered a soft smile.

“There ya go. Enjoy.”

“Aye, I’m sure we will, miss. I’m sure we will,” said one, a set of slightly crooked teeth gleaming from behind his moustache. His blue eyes raked over her. He and his friend shared a look, then chuckled.

“Oh...well...good then.” Cora burned under their hungry gazes. Those, Miss Elizabeth would say, were the looks of men hoping to invade a lady’s petticoats. She cleared her throat and hurried off back to the bar for her next order, smirking at their laughter behind her.

◄☼►

The cover of night was the best way for a Wolf to travel. Staying mostly to the shadows, inconspicuous and watchful, Declan Harp glowered his way through the streets of Montreal. He was irritated. He and Sokanon had been waiting in a camp outside the city for most of the day for Tom Creely to show. The man was supposed to bring some trade negotiations to the table for the Black Wolf Company, but he never showed.

And Declan hated when people brushed him off.

Of course, the fellow might have encountered some circumstances that kept him from making the meeting. Instructing Sokanon to remain at the camp, Declan decided he’d go into the city to a place Creely said he could be found whenever the half-Cree, half-Irishman was looking for him.

McClintock’s Tavern.

Declan’s brow lowered as he stood outside examining the place. He’d never been in before, hadn’t spent much time in Montreal really. A visit here and there for supplies. This was as far as he’d ever gone inside the city. He could hear the fiddle, drum, and flute, the yips and roaring laughter, see the silhouettes of a packed house through the foggy windows.

“You better fucking be here,” he hissed deeply under his breath, then went inside.

The door banged shut after him, and not a person paid attention. Apparently, fur-clad, tough-looking frontiersman were common around there. Declan chuffed as he moved through a thick cloud of pipe smoke surrounding a booth where a group of men played cards and swooned about lasses with big breasts. He spotted an empty tall table to one side of the room and made his way to it, unshouldering his traveling bag and setting it down. His eyes raked the room, though only his right one could see anything.

◄☼►

“God, why is it so busy here tonight?” Coralee huffed, leaning close so Enid could hear her over the rip-roaring bustle. “You’d think there was a sign outside advertising free food and drinks.”

Enid laughed from behind the bar, pushing two pints of ale across the countertop. “Makes the night go by faster for me.”

“Yes, I suppose it does.”

“Here are ya two drinks for the men over there. Also,” Enid nodded towards the door, the tall man who’d entered and found a table, “you’d best go see what that one wants. He’s in your section, after all.”

“Ugh.” Coralee rolled her eyes. Both young ladies studied Declan Harp across the tavern. “Looks kind of wild, doesn’t he? Like he done just walked right out of a bear’s den after killing and skinning it himself.”

“Hm. Indeed. Still, a customer’s a customer. As long as he’s paying, Mister McClintock don’t care how tame he is.”

Cora smirked, grabbed up the pints, and delivered them to their table. She then slowly approached Declan, and he already had his eye on her. Cora cleared her throat and smoothed her skirts. “Good evenin’, sir. What can I get you?”

Declan’s expression shifted only a bit. He was quite irritated by Creely’s no-show, yet more than a little fascinated by the female before him now. Didn’t see many blacks up that far north. They usually concentrated around New York, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, those that weren’t swept up in the slave trade. This woman, her hazel eyes locked on him with her chin held high and proud, made quite a vision. She’d taken her braids down before going in to work, and an avalanche of dark, fluffy, tight curls poured over her slender shoulders and down to the middle of her back. Declan thought she might’ve been born in the north at first, but she’d undoubtedly spent some time in the south to possess such a charming drawl.

“I don’t want anything. Thanks,” he answered, his voice deep and resonant.

“Okay…” Cora nodded. “Sure you don’t want some water at least?”

“I’m sure.”

“Right.” Cora felt unsettled by the engaging way he watched her, like he was trying to read into her soul or something. “I’ll just leave you to it. If you change your mind, send me a holler.”

“Mm.” A single nod.

Declan’s anger had evaporated. Crazy how a few moments with a mysterious woman could calm him. He watched her weave through the room to the bar to pick up a tray of drinks, and after she delivered them, one of the men in the booth playfully smacked her bottom before she moved away, him and his friends howling out laughter.

Cora quickly spun and slapped his cheek. “How dare you!”

Declan grinned from the shadows.

The man’s eyes widened, and he laughed further, as did his buddies. “C’mon, don’t be brash. I’m just bein’ friendly, lass!”

“You can stick ya hand down ya pants and get friendly with ya’self!” Coralee snapped, then hurried off.

Declan nodded, chuckling. The woman had fire. He didn’t hear the words exchanged over the music and patrons, but he got the gist.

Back at the bar, Enid moved around to Cora, examining her. “I saw what that pig did, and also saw you nail him. You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

The musicians finished their latest tune. The fiddler of the trio—there was also a drummist and flutist—called out, “Miss Cora! C’mon over here and give us a song, would ye!”

“Oh...I...I don’t know. I’m kind of busy tonight, Fergus.”

“Go ahead, love,” said Mr. McClintock from down the bar. He was polishing glasses, a smile on his ruddy features. He’d learned a while ago that Cora had a beautiful voice and knew many songs. She said she heard most of them back on the plantation, a lot of them straight from Irish lore, picked up during her time serving Master Cassidy’s parties in the main house. “There’s enough girls here. You sing one for the house and you can take off, eh?”

“Hm.” Cora smiled and shrugged. “Looks like you’ve made an offer I can’t refuse. Okay then. A song for the house.”

Yips and applause went up. Many of the patrons were regulars, which meant they’d heard the young woman sing before. They were anxious for it now.

Cora moved through the crowd, which had parted to allow her passage. She stopped by the musicians, the hearth in the corner behind them housing a low fire. She cleared her throat and nodded.

Fergus looked to the other two musicians, nodded his countdown, and they started to play one Coralee knew. Moorlough Shore. The fiddle and flute started the song with a small solo.

Cora’s gaze roamed the room. Every eye was upon her, including that of the strange, large, wild man who didn’t order anything. All was hushed, an expectant aura filling the tavern. She swayed slowly to the music, took a breath, and sang.

_“Your hills and dales and flowery vales_

_That lie near the Moorlough Shore._

_Your vines that blow by Borden’s grove,_

_Will I ever see you more?_

_Where the primrose glows_

_And the violet grows,_

_Where the trout and salmon play._

_With my line and hook, delight I took_

_To spend my youthful days.”_

With every line, Declan became calmer, less intense, until Tom Creely had all but left his thoughts. The woman’s voice—the fiddler revealed her name to be Cora—was truly a tool to soothe a savage beast, so haunting and filled with pain.

The little bell over the door dinged softly, drawing Declan’s attention. Some man had entered, taking a moment to stare at Cora across the room. Declan didn’t like the nature of the smile he issued then; it was tailored with malice and foul intentions. The stranger recognized the woman. When he started for a table just ahead of Declan’s, the half-Cree averted his eye back to Cora, listening to her sing, but watching the stranger at the same time.

_“Last night I went to see my love,_

_And to hear what she might say._

_To see if she’d take pity on me,_

_Lest I might go away._

_She said, ‘I loved an Irish lad,_

_And he was my only joy._

_And ever since I saw his face,_

_I have loved that soldier boy.’_

Cora spun around slowly while the flute and fiddle went into an instrumental, the firelight transforming her into a bewitching silhouette. She sure was a beauty, Declan thought. Her arms waved delicately about, then she faced the crowd once more.

_“Perhaps your soldier lad is lost_

_Sailing over the Sea of Maine._

_Or perhaps he’s gone with some other one,_

_You may never see him again._

_Well, if my Irish lad is lost,_

_He’s the one I do adore._

_And for seven years I’ll wait for him_

_By the banks of the Moorlough Shore.”_

Cora raised her arms pleadingly, to no one in particular, only lost in the emotions of the song. Her lovely face saddened, and her bright eyes peered into the distance.

_“Farewell to Sinclaire’s castle ground,_

_Farewell to the foggy hills._

_Where the linen wefts like bleaching silk_

_And the bulging stream runs still._

_Near there I spent my youthful days,_

_But alas, they are no more!_

_For cruelty has banished me_

_Far away from the Moorlough Shore…”_

Cora lowered her arms and her eyes, which caught Declan’s mesmerized stare a moment. The flutist carried the song out with a solo, fading.

The room burst into cheers and yips.

From behind the bar, Mr. McClintock halted his profuse applause to discreetly wipe a tear from his eye. The little songbird did well to represent his homeland with that epic tale of a lass longing for her soldier gone to war. Reminded him of home, it did.

Cora blushed and hurried for the bar, thanking people as she went.

“So good, lass! So very damn good! Voice like an angel!” called Mr. McClintock. “As promised, you can take off. Be safe heading home, Miss Cora.”

“Thanks, sir! I will!” Cora headed to the back to gather her things and bundle up.

Meanwhile, Declan’s sixth sense led him to move in closer to the newcomer who’d been watching Cora with something other than admiration and wonder. He watched her like he was a beast on the hunt. Declan quietly got in close enough until he could see over the man’s shoulder. He was looking down at a paper. A poster he’d unrolled. Declan saw it clearly by the golden light of the table lantern:

**WANTED: ALIVE**

**Coralee Cassidy**

**Escaped slave from Sunset Fields Plantation,**

**South Carolina**

**A reward of $2000 will be**

**issued by Master Felton Cassidy upon her return**

A very accurate sketch accompanied the text.

So, she _had_ been a slave.

Declan’s anger re-established itself, his face hardening. Slavecatchers were on his list of most vile creatures, right up there with Benton. He knew instantly he wouldn’t stand by and let that piece of shit capture Cora. Declan also knew that his good intentions got the better of him sometimes. Things tended to go sour when you tried to help others, but it was in his nature.

Slowly, Declan backed into the shadows of his table and waited.

◄☼►

Cora left McClintock’s with a content smile on her face. Her life was so good right now, and her favorite time of year infused the land. Autumn. The smells and colors made her feel so warm and alive. The snows would come soon, announced by the crisp bite in the air.

The young woman took the main street for a block, then veered onto a narrow, less populated, dimly lit, side street. She always took that way home from the tavern, not long of a walk, and if it was early enough, she could smell the baker’s bread lingering on the breeze.

As she passed a space between two buildings, arms snaked from the darkness and grabbed her, a rag shoved into her mouth and tied there. Cora tried to scream but it was muffled. She kicked and flailed, dragged by whoever down the alley and away from the city.

Declan wasn’t the only one who’d seen her abduction.

A homeless drunkard saw it too, not into a full-blown stupor yet. He had been sitting with a half bottle of whiskey behind some barrels when the man snatched and gagged the woman. Curious, he sniffed, and got to his feet, following.

◄☼►

The slavecatcher got Cora all the way to the edge of the city, well enough away from prying eyes and open ears. Declan was glad for this. He’d need privacy to handle the swine.

Tossed over the man’s shoulder with her hands and feet tied, Cora wept and shivered. She knew exactly what the man was. Everything had been going so well, but now she was going back. Back to _that_ life.

No! No, she just couldn’t! She _wouldn’t!_ She’d rather die.

She struggled as hard as she could, wiggling so badly the man’s balance was thrown. Growling, he dropped her into a bank of fallen leaves, skirts splaying to reveal frilly petticoats.

“Stop ya fighting, black bitch,” he mocked. “You’ll be home soon enough, and I can say good fucking riddance to this hellish cold.”

Cora shook her head, tears streaming. “_MMMM-mmm! MMMMpfff!_”

The catcher laughed, squatting on his haunches before her. “Your master must want you back something fierce to still have this bounty on you almost three years after you got away. You shole are a pretty one, though…”

He reached for her thigh and Cora kicked out, eyes widening, pleading for him not to do what she knew he wanted to.

“Calm down, bitch!”

The man never saw his death coming.

That’s the way Declan preferred.

The half-Cree was on the slavecatcher so quickly Cora startled and yelped. She watched in horror as the large, wild man from the tavern clamped arms around the catcher’s throat, performed a quick twist, and snapped his neck.

The body fell lifelessly to the ground, eyes staring off at nothing.

Shivering and weeping, Cora allowed Declan to cut the binds on her wrists and ankles. She pulled the gag free, breathing quickly.

Declan offered his hand.

She stared at him for a moment, frightened. Finally, she took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. Cora staggered a few steps away, her gaze watchful. She could see most of his features by the light of a silvery half-moon.

“You’re scared of me? I just saved you.”

Cora lifted a brow. “I just watched you kill someone with your bare hands. _Of course, I’m scared!_”

“Well, you don’t have to be. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

She took a breath, eyes flicking to the catcher’s body, then to her savior. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Declan. Now, let’s get you home so you can gather some things. You can’t stay in Montreal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for Moorlough Shore lyrics: https://www.bellsirishlyrics.com/moorlough-shore.html
> 
> *I do not own the public image of Logan Browning used to depict the character of Coralee for this fanfiction.


	2. Warmth

“Whatchu mean by ‘can’t stay in Montreal?’” Cora’s eyes loomed, and she forgot about the corpse at their feet.

“Exactly that. You have to leave the city.”

“The hell you say! I’m not going anywhere!” She shook her head, making voluminous locks shift over her shoulders. “My home is right here, and I’ll not let some slavecatcher run me from it!”

Declan sighed, staring down at her. “Coralee,” he said calmly.

She looked him up and down. “How do you know my name?”

“Saw him”—Declan tersely gestured at the corpse—“reading a wanted poster with your name on it. Coralee Cassidy.”

“Oh…” She allowed her eyes to rake fully over him then, sizing him up, coming to her own conclusions. “You’re Declan Harp?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes narrowed. “From the things I’ve heard, I wouldn’t think you’d be one to go around saving people.”

“Just goes to show that lies are spread to cause fear. Scared people are easy to control.”

“So...you _haven’t_ been raiding the Hudson Bay Company and killing their men?”

“Well, yes, but it's for good reason.”

“I see.”

“Look, Cora, we don’t have a lot of time. He wasn’t alone; slavecatchers travel in packs like wild dogs. It won’t take long for whoever he’s with to realize he’s not coming back. They’ll keep looking for you.”

The woman appeared so helpless and devastated then, knowing he spoke the truth. She knew how relentless the catchers could be. She wondered why it had taken so long for them to show up for her, why they’d ever given her the semblance of hope that her freedom would be lasting and unhindered.

“Cora?”

Her lovely eyes snapped to him, and she nodded. “This way.”

◄☼►

Just in case she was being watched, Declan decided it was best if they sneaked around the back of Elizabeth’s large premises. Cora concurred. The woman had been on the edge of tears during the entire walk from the outskirts of the city to the house. She was just so frustrated.

Declan carefully closed the side gate after him, then followed Cora around to the back porch. The rear entrance was unlocked. Cora slipped inside to see Elizabeth, Aurora, James, and Darlene sitting around drinking wine and talking about something amusing, judging from their laughter.

Their smiles expanded at the sight of Cora, then gradually crumbled away at the young woman’s dismal expression.

“Coralee, what’s wrong, dear?” Elizabeth set her glass down and headed over.

A moment later, the Cree Irishman ducked his frame through the door and closed it.

Elizabeth gasped. Everyone else went on edge too. James hurried to place himself before Elizabeth, ready to protect the ladies, though he wasn’t so sure he’d win in a fight against the mountainous man.

“Everyone, please, it’s alright,” Cora spoke softly, her tone one of defeat. “This is—”

“—Declan Harp,” finished Elizabeth sternly. At the same time, she pivoted sideways and grabbed her rifle from behind the counter, aiming at the frontiersman. Aurora and Darlene moved closer to James.

“Elizabeth, no!” Cora jumped in front of Declan, her arms up. “He saved me!”

Declan gently nudged Cora aside. He could face his own music. He stared darkly at Elizabeth.

“What?” Elizabeth lowered the weapon.

“I was on my way home from the tavern an hour ago when a slavecatcher snatched me up,” she started to explain, dropping onto a nearby chair, shoulders slumped. “Declan saw him do it, and he...stopped him just outside the city.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. “How do I know this isn’t some kind of plan of yours?”

“Not my style.” Declan smirked thinly. “And I assure you that dead slavecatcher is no friend of mine.”

“Oh my god,” Elizabeth finally set the gun down and moved in, wrapping her arms around Coralee, who cried into her shoulder. The widow’s eyes turned to Declan, and she nodded. “Thank you.”

Declan returned the nod, not seeming very fazed to have been staring down the barrel of her gun moments before. “I told her she needs to leave. Tonight. There are certainly more catchers sniffing around, and they will find her. The sooner she leaves Montreal, the better.”

“But..._isn’t there anything you can do!_” Cora screamed. “_I don’t want to leave, Miss Elizabeth! I don’t!_” She buried her face into the other woman again.

Elizabeth Turner Rollins, the good samaritan to those in need, shook her head, stroking Cora’s hair. “I’m sorry, my dear, but he’s right. I’ve been helping people like you hide and move and get new lives for twenty years. Slavecatchers rarely stop. The money drives them.” She pulled Cora back so she could look in her eyes. “You’re a strong girl. No—a strong young woman. You’ll get through this and you _will stay free_, but you have to leave.”

Cora finally nodded, eyes blurry with tears. “But where am I supposed to go now?”

“Fort James,” Declan intervened. “Northwest. I’ve never seen slavecatchers out that far. I have a friend there that’ll hide you until things cool down.”

“Fort James…” Cora breathed, sniffling. “God.”

“Coralee, you need to get your traveling bag packed, dear,” said Elizabeth, her eyes teary. “We also need to get you dressed properly for the journey. Come now.”

Cora slowly stood, nodding. Everything was a haze, happening so fast. She felt like she was wading through thick, blinding mist, the kind in nightmares. “Alright…”

Declan grabbed her arm before she slipped away, making her turn to him. His brow furrowed in seriousness as he peered down at her, but his face wasn’t angry. Instead, the expression he wore spoke of concern, tenderness. “Don’t ever put yourself in front of a gun for me again, woman. Understand?”

She nodded quickly. “Y-yes.”

“Good. Now, go get ready.”

◄☼►

While Cora gathered her things and got ready, Declan had been silently stalking through every room on the ground floor that had a window, peeking out into the night, watching for friends of the dead slavecatcher. But the yards and streets were silent. Just normal traffic.

Less than an hour later, everyone stood in the kitchen by the back entrance.

The large man’s eye examined Cora, who wore pants with leather windbreakers, a heavy tunic, a fur coat, fur-lined boots, and gloves. She was very warm then and starting to sweat a bit. Her traveling bag was slung over her chest.

Declan nodded. “You have on long underwear?”

“Yes, Mr. Harp.” She pursed her lips in irritation.

“I’m just checking. It’s going to be very cold out there.”

Cora took a breath. She didn’t mean to snap at him. “I am very well insulated.”

“Alright then. It’s time to go.”

Cora’s heart sank. It was really happening. She was leaving the place she’d called home for three years and the people she’d grown to love as kin during that time. She faced Elizabeth, Aurora, and Darlene. The four of them embraced tightly.

“We’ll see you again soon,” moped Aurora.

“Yes, you will,” Cora promised.

James moved in and hugged her abruptly. He watched her morosely. “Be safe, Miss Cora. Did ye pack the muff I gave you?”

She chuffed a short laugh. “Yes, James. It’s in my bag.”

“Good. It’ll keep those hands of yours nice and toasty.” For a moment, it looked like he might ease in and peck her kiss. Instead, his eyes yanked to Declan, and he frowned. “You put your hands on her in anything other than an honorable way, and I’ll chop ‘em off and feed ‘em to you. Ye read me?”

Declan’s brow slowly lifted, and he just stared at the guy who was shorter by half a foot and probably thirty pounds lighter. He couldn’t get angry at the threat and was actually very amused. The man only wanted to defend a lady’s honor. Declan nodded. “Loud and clear.”

Cora blushed, stealing a look at Declan. “I’ll miss you all something awful. Miss Elizabeth, has someone readied the horses?”

“We’re not taking horses,” Declan said.

“Wouldn’t it be faster?” Cora questioned.

“Horses are easily tracked, and we won’t be using the main trail.”

“Oh.”

“Let’s move. I have a friend outside the city in a camp waiting for me. We’ll need to meet up with her first before heading for Fort James.”

And so Coralee Cassidy began yet another grand journey into the unknown.

◄☼►

Cora walked silently just behind Declan, keeping up with his long stride. He could hear her close by, her steps quietly crunching over leaves. They stuck to the dimness and back streets, until the houses and buildings thinned out, then they shifted to the groves of red birch trees marking the city’s limits. They crossed a short bridge that arched over a humbly trickling stream.

Cora followed Declan to where the woodlands began atop a low hill. She stopped, turned, and sighed at Montreal’s cityscape. He heard her halt and did the same, giving her a moment to say her silent goodbyes. They were out of the city anyway, Cora no longer in immediate danger.

The young woman squared her shoulders, tightened her features, and spun, enigmatic eyes burning at him from the shadows of her furry hood. “I’m ready.”

Declan nodded. The pair slipped into the tree line, meddling with the shadows.

North. That’s the direction they hiked for twenty minutes, following the steam that had become more a creek as it widened. The moon gleamed over the water to their right. All the while Cora didn’t speak, only following his lead.

Declan spied her over his shoulder. “How you holding up?”

She shrugged. “Fine, I suppose.” The response was soft, heartbroken.

His broad shoulders rose in fell with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you were there to stop him. Had you not, I’d be well on my way back to South Carolina. So, thank you for saving me, Mr. Harp.”

He issued a faint smile. “You can just call me Declan, you know?”

“Alright then.”

“We’re almost there.”

_There_ was the little camp he and Sokanon built to wait for Tom Creely. Up ahead through the trees, Cora saw the glow of a fire lighting the creek shore from around a bend. Declan stopped suddenly and trained his eye on the shadows.

“Put your bow down. It’s just me, and I brought a guest.”

Sokanon parted from the gloom, tucking her arrow in the quiver on her back. She shouldered the bow, going to stand squarely before Cora, whose eyes widened at the sight of her. “I can see that. Who is she? I thought you were going to get Creely.”

“I went to the tavern he spoke of, but he wasn’t there. This is Coralee. She works at the tavern. I caught wind of a slavecatcher whose plan was to capture her, but I handled him.”

“Hm.” Sokanon’s unfaltering gaze remained on Cora as she spoke to Declan. “So, why did you bring her out here?”

Cora didn’t dare give the woman any attitude. She looked like she’d killed more men than Declan. She remained quiet, listening.

“I’m taking her to Fort James. Grace’ll put her up until the catchers lose her scent.”

Sokanon nodded. “Sounds like the best thing to do.” She turned fully to him. “What should we do about Creely? The Black Wolf Company really needs a deal soon. Silver’s running thin; the men are restless.”

“For now, you go to Samoset and Dimanche. You three come back here and try to find Creely. Get that deal.”

“I could find him myself.”

“No, get them first. That way someone can man a camp, eyes and ears on the outside of the city to watch your back.”

Sokanon nodded. “Alright. Be safe.”

“Always.”

The Cree beauty gave another look at Cora, then went to fetch her bag near the fire and headed off into the night. Cora was glad that he led her towards the flames; they were comforting and reminded her of the hearthfires in Miss Elizabeth’s grand foyer.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Declan spoke when she started to sit.

“We...aren’t staying here?”

“No. We’re not far enough away from the city. Need more distance between us and Montreal. I’m just putting this out.” He kicked dirt over the lapping, licking flames, smothering them. His booted foot stamped and scattered the embers. When he finished, Declan grabbed his fur bedroll up and adjusted it on his back. “We’ll follow the creek north for another hour or so, then go west into the woodlands. Our trail will be far away from the main road. Not so easy to track.”

“Oh...okay,” she said in a small voice.

“You ready?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s move.”

◄☼►

It was nearly three hours later when the frontiersman stopped them at a place flanked by large boulders. A natural nook where the ground was more firm, not as spongy as the rest of the forest floor. He set his traveling bag and bedroll down, turning to Coralee. He was somewhat surprised at how little she complained since they left Montreal. Then again, she was certainly no stranger to hardship and long treks. She _had_ traveled from South Carolina to Canada.

“We’re camping here for the night,” Declain voiced softly. The man was used to being careful. He was sure they weren’t being followed, but it never hurt to be discreet.

Coralee set her bag down.

“Stay here. I’m going to get some wood and kindling.”

The young woman’s eyes remained calmly on him. “What can I do to help?”

“Well...I dunno…” Declan looked around a moment. “You can gather some stones for a firepit.”

“Alright.” She turned away, took off her gloves, and stretched, then set off in one direction.

“Don’t go too far. Stay in this clearing.”

“I won’t. Go too far, I mean.”

Declan watched her spot a few stones, gathering them up, then he turned and stalked into the trees. A short while later, they sat across a fire from one another. He had unrolled his furs so she could sit on them. Cora stared silently into the fire, the golden glow frosting her beautiful visage. Her eyes glistened like she might cry, but she held it in, determined not appear like some weak, simpering girl.

The breeze picked up, its icy tongues lapping over her. She flipped her hood back up, scrunched her shoulders, and shivered.

Declan stood and approached, unbuttoning his coat as he watched her. He lowered beside her, close.

Cora’s hazel eyes widened, and she retracted from the arm he tried to put around her. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“It’s alright. This’ll help you warm up.” The man wrapped her in the coat, holding her against his side.

Cora felt bad for doubting his intentions. He emanated a heat that was pleasantly alarming, manifesting a feeling of solid security. She sighed, pulled the hood from her head again, and gradually settled in his embrace.

“Is that better? You warmin’ up?”

Cora nodded, staring at the fire. “Yes, Thank you, Declan.”

“You’re welcome.” A stint of awkward yet enjoyable silence passed with the Cree Irishman secretly taking in the scent of her hair. It smelled of wild mountain flowers. He reached for his pack and dug in, pulling out some jerky and skillet bread wrapped in a cloth. He held it out to her.

“I’m not hungry,” she said softly.

“You have to eat to keep your strength up, Cora. We got a lot of walking to do, and I don’t need you passing out from hunger.”

She huffed and rolled her eyes, side-gazing him. “You make it sound like I haven’t eaten anything all day, like I’m on the verge of starvation.”

Declan answered by lifting his brow, the bundle of food still extended.

Obviously, it was useless trying to argue with someone like him, Cora concluded, because he remained like that for half a minute, staring at her while wearing a look of mild amusement.

“Fine.” She relented and took the bundle, removing a piece of jerky, upon which she slowly nibbled.

“Good.” Declan smiled, took a piece of jerky and bread for himself, and rewrapped the rest.

“Well, this is a rotten way to spend my birthday, on the run from slavecatchers,” Cora mumbled.

“Hm?” Declan sighed. Her birthday? He could think of stronger words than ‘rotten’. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

Declan tried to lighten the mood. "You sing real nice."

"Hm." A dry expression and quick shrug. "I love singing, and if it could keep slavercatchers away, I'd never have to worry about being taken again."

Well, fail on the mood lightening.

The two of them sat there eating and listening to the night, the snap of campfire embers. Owls called out from the surrounding darkness, their “who” songs alluring and secretive. Declan decided to strike up another conversation.

“That man back there—James. You and him a thing?”

Cora conjured a surprised blush. “You mean are we together?”

“Mm.”

“No.” She issued the slightest giggle. “We’re just friends.”

“You sure about that? He seems very fond of you. Threatened to cut off my hands and all.”

“I...I think he’s taken a liking to me.” She paused and cleared her throat. “That woman back at the creek—what’s her name?”

“Sokanon.”

“That’s pretty. Are you and her...a thing?”

Declan snorted and smiled. “She’s like my sister.”

“I see.” Cora spared a look over at him to see that he watched her closely. He didn’t seem so scary. She couldn’t imagine why the law notices and warnings made him out to be such a monster. Maybe it was like he said: scared people were easier to control. Cora found her eyes slowly roaming his face, which was rather close to hers. She suddenly looked away, towards the fire. “Well...I am tired…”

“Alright. Go on and lie down.”

She did so after pulling her gloves on and flipping her hood back up. She stiffened for a moment when the side of his body pressed to her back.

“Relax, woman. With me behind you and the fire in front, you’ll stay warm.”

Cora smirked at the laughter in his voice. She stared at the tranquil flames, eventually drifting off to sleep.


	3. A Friendship Forged in Adversity

Coralee shifted on the bed of furs, moving gradually from the land of slumber to the waking world. Her eyes slowly opened and focused, seeing that the fire was out and wisps of white smoke drifted from the ashes. She felt movement against her back and rolled over.

There was Declan, sitting up and oiling the blade of his freshly sharpened knife. He’d kept his body close to her while she slept, deterring the cold. He stopped what he was doing, eyes narrowing, the faintest smile on his face.

“You snore.”

Cora smirked and sat up fully. “I most certainly do _not_ snore.”

He chuckled. “Okay.”

She pulled her hood back, releasing the poof of her hair. For a few moments, she worked her shoulders and arms, stretching. “Maybe I did a little last night. Surprisingly, I slept rather well.”

“Good.”

She studied him. “Did you stay up all night?”

He nodded.

“Why?” Cora asked. “I could’ve stood watch while you got some shuteye.”

“I’m fine. I’ve gone several days without sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t do it if you don’t have to. Next time, I’ll look out for a while so you can sleep.” At that, Cora got to her feet and examined the clearing.

Declan put his knife away. “Looking for a place to relieve yourself?”

A blush ignited the young woman’s neck and burned its way up her cheeks. She nodded.

“Over there,” he gestured. “Behind that boulder.”

Mildly embarrassed, Cora hurried off.

Declan shook his head, smiling after her. He started packing up the camp.

◄☼►

Back in Montreal, redcoat patrols on horseback set out at daybreak to make the normal rounds. Groups of four checked all main roads in and out of the city, going two miles out to the officer posts and back. This allowed the guards to spot any suspicious activity close to the city’s limits.

Riding along the south road, on their way to the post and Montreal at their backs, one patrol found the dead slavecatcher. What identified his profession was the star-shaped brass emblem he wore on a chain tucked down in his jacket. Etched into it:

**RUNAWAY SLAVE PATROL**

**SINCE 1772**

**GEORGETOWN COUNTY**

**SOUTH CAROLINA**

Slavecatchers didn’t truly hold jurisdiction that far north, but they still ventured up regardless, more and more every year it seemed like. The black folk who escaped the slave colonies and made it north were usually safe, though some were chased. And any who made it from American soil to Canada were to be completely off limits, though that law wasn’t really enforced openly.

The contents of the dead man’s rucksack were scattered by his body, indicating he’d been robbed. An empty little coin bag was tossed crumpled and unceremoniously aside. Also, they found the wanted poster for Coralee’s capture.

The leader of the redcoat patrol spun around on the road, examining it up and down, the flanking tree line. Snow had begun to flurry from the pale gray heavens. He gestured to two of the other men. “Get him up on a horse. We’ll take him to the morgue.”

“Really, sir? He’s a slavecatcher. He won’t be missed.”

The lieutenant’s face hardened. “That he may be, but we are the law, and we will take the body into the city. If he has acquaintances, they’ll be looking for him. It would be better if they came to us so we could get eyes on them. We’ll also send out word to all who have any female negro friends or servants, warn them. Now, get him on the horse.”

“Yes, sir,” said the questioning officer.

Another man spoke up, nodding. “That’s a good idea, sir, putting out the warning, but I know the woman on the poster. Well, not personally. She lives with Miss Turner Rollins, sings like a bird. I catch her at McClintock's some nights. Word was she escaped the clutches of slavery a few years ago. Guess it was true. It’d be a shame if one of his kind managed to take her away.”

“Hm.” The lieutenant mused, nodding.

Once they had the catcher’s half-frozen body strewn over a horse, they headed back into the city to deliver it to the morgue.

◄☼►

Angus Beecher finished pissing against a tree, shook himself off, fixed his pants, and turned back to the small camp he shared with four men, one of which hadn’t returned from the city. The other three ate cups of beans and salted pork by a dwindling fire. He was the leader of the group of slave hunters. Colm Mallory, Shane Leary, Gunter Runnels, and Toby McArden had agreed to follow him into the north on a hunt for one escaped Coralee Cassidy. The girl had been gone for almost three years, yes, and they’d searched up and down the American colonies for her. Master Felton Cassidy, whom Angus worked for as a field overseer, felt for certain she was alive and wanted her back, so he increased the bounty. Two-thousand dollars was a lot of money, even split five ways.

So, Angus took his men into the far northern frontier. That’s the only place she could’ve gone. Within a month of passing into Canada, they got a promising hit and found her to be living under some uppity widowed bitch who made it her business to help runaways. Angus secretly spied on Coralee for two weeks and watched her daily routines before making his move.

The plan was clean. A simple in and out job. Toby was go into Montreal the previous day, snag Coralee in the night, and bring her back to their camp. An easy one-man job. Didn’t want to draw attention to anyone who might miss the girl.

Now, full-on daylight had come, and Toby hadn’t returned with their bounty.

Angus hawked and spat to the side. His slow exhalations created hot puffs on the chilled air. “You boys hurry on up so we can head in the city.”

Gunter finished chewing the beans in his mouth before speaking. “Stop worryin’. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Colm entered, grinning. “It’s colder’n balls up here. He probably went whoring for a warm bed. Hell, I’da done the same. Get me one of them painted up city girls.”

Everyone laughed but Angus. He looked very unamused. “Just finish your fuckin’ beans so we can go.”

The laughter dried up quickly. The good ole boys knew how short-tempered Angus Beecher could be, and not one of them wanted to test his growing irritation. They finished their breakfast in silence, broke down camp, and trekked into Montreal.

◄☼►

By mid morning, they’d finished backtracking the places Toby might have gone, and there weren’t many. It ended with the four of them standing across the street from McClintock’s, the establishment not open at such an early hour.

Angus studied the darkened windows. “Where the hell’s he at?” Muttered to himself mostly while he picked his mind on the next move.

“You gentlemen look like you’re waiting for someone,” came a leathery voice, made so by years of smoking and drinking whenever possible.

The five slavecatchers turned to face a dirty, unkempt fellow. He was wrapped in a tattered but warm-looking array of scrap furs and leather. His yellowed grin revealed that he’d lost three of his four front teeth. He got an even closer look at the slavecatcher badge around Angus’s neck, same as the one whose body he pilfered the previous evening. When he spotted the five men around the corner from the tavern, the homeless man noticed immediately how similarly they dressed to the man he watched carry the wee black woman outside the city. So, he followed them.

Angus’s eyes narrowed and darkened. “Who the fuck are you, old man?”

“Oh, I’m just a lowly beggar, kind sir.”

“Is that right…?”

“A beggar who might know where you can find who you’re looking for...for a price.”

Crypticness wasn’t something Angus enjoyed. He much preferred to have everything cut and clear. Slowly, he moved in until he was inches from the homeless man. “How about you tell me what you know, and I won’t punch the rest of your damned teeth out? How’sat sound?”

The vagabond pushed down the lump in his throat. He didn’t relent just yet. “How about I just take you to him?”

Angus sneered, sweeping an arm out. “Lead the way.”

◄☼►

Montreal had two major morgues. Danvers and Sons and Hauer and Sons. Leland Danvers II started the family business seventy years ago, and currently Leland Danvers IV ran it. Up until thirty years ago, the Danverses had a monopoly on the dead people market, with smaller morgues and morticians trying to compete. That was when Leif Hauer opened shop and quickly became a fierce competitor for handling the post mortem. The rivalry struck up between them was almost legendary. The two families were like the Hatfields and McCoys of Montreal.

The old vagabond took them on a ten minute walk to the doorstep of Danvers and Sons.

Shock rattled through Angus and his crew. The large carved wooden sign swinging slowly on its beam and the chemical tang of embalming fluid drew them sharply into reality.

“What the fuck’s this, Angus!” Shane’s voice quivered. “What’s this old shit sayin’!”

Angus’s eyes rolled. “It’s a morgue. What do you think he’s sayin’?”

“Can’t be true!” Shane almost screamed. He looked about ready to jump the vagabond, who backed away some.

“I’m sorry, but I think the one you search for is the one they brought in this morning,” said the old man squarely, nodding.

“Boys, with me.” Angus voiced gruffly, and the slave hunter squad went inside Danvers and Sons.

◄☼►

Jarrett Danvers was the second son, born two years after Leland Danvers V; Leland Danvers IV had taken his first day off in two months. Both men were seated at a table drinking coffee when the door swung open and sent a brisk gust into the spacious front office. They peered over their mugs at the four men who obviously weren’t from around there, and the star-etched badge around Angus’s neck told them exactly who the men were.

But formalities were a value at Danvers and Sons.

Jarrett stood up and went to them. “How can I help you gentleman this morning?”

“We have reason to believe you have one of our friends on your slab, told to us by some old man outside,” Angus answered simply.

“Oh, yes…” Jarrett said, clearing his throat. “We had a body brought in this morning, and he was dressed like you, had one of those...um...badges on his person.”

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Shane whined.

Gunter smacked him on the arm. The signal to pull himself together.

Maintaining his hard expression, Angus nodded. “Let’s see ‘em. Gotta verify.”

“Of course,” Jarrett said softly. “This way.”

He led them through a set of double doors and further into the haven of the dead, where the almost sickening odor of formaldehyde weighed heavily on the air. They passed a few rooms to the left and right, and before they reached the furnace room at the very end of the wide corridor, Jarrett dipped through a door.

There were half a dozen medical tables, all empty except for one. On it was the body of Toby McArden.

“Fuck! Fuck! _Fuuuck!_” screamed Shane. He was the most dramatic of the bunch.

Colm and Gunter removed their hats, approaching the table with Angus.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jarrett said. “I’ll just leave you alone.”

With Jarrett out of the room, Shane sank to the ground and bawled.

Angus went closer to the medical table, standing over Toby’s body, examining it. His eyes weren’t closed all the way, parted just a slit so the whites barely showed. He noted the unnatural angle of his neck.

“Somebody sneaked up on ‘em, broke his neck,” Angus spoke analytically, to himself mostly. “He definitely ain’t see it comin’, don’t look like he struggled much.”

“Damn shame,” Gunter said sadly. “What we gone tell his mama?”

“We’ll tell her he died doing his job, preserving our good Christian way of life.” Angus spoke with a face void of expression. He took the slavecatcher badge from around Toby’s neck and stowed it in his pack. He’d take it back to Mama McArden. “He’ll be remembered with honor. Now, let’s go get some answers and find out where that nigger bitch done got off to.”

◄☼►

After giving the Danvers brothers permission to burn Toby’s remains, dropping a silver for their troubles, Angus led his crew from the morgue. As expected, the old man was still waiting.

Angus stopped in front of him. “Alright. You wouldn’t have led us here if you didn’t know somethin’. So what do you know?”

“What will you give me?”

Angus smirked, pulled a silver from his pouch, and dropped it in the homeless man’s grubby hand.

The vagabond’s eyes gleamed at the sight of the money, and he pocketed it, already visualizing the drink he’d be able to buy to keep him warm through the week and soothe the savage realities of the world for just a little while. “Last night your friend grabbed a negro woman in the alley I call home. Curious, I followed them. He got just outside the city, on the south road, when he was overcome by a very big fellow. He followed your friend and killed him, saved the woman.”

“You know his name?”

“Before he took her home, they spoke. Appears he was the infamous Declan Harp.”

◄☼►

Later that day, a fisherman and his crew went to check their catch nets for salmon. One net was particularly difficult to reel in; it took a great amount of strength. The three of them heaved their catch closer and closer, until a man’s body crested the surface of the water, giving them quite a startle.

They reported the body to the authorities, who were able to identify him as a local fur trader and businessman named Tom Creely.

◄☼►

Samuel Grant sat neatly at his desk on the far side of the drawing room in his large Montreal home. He’d just finished dinner and would now look over some records. Business was thriving, despite the Hudson Bay Company’s attempted monopoly over all fur trade in the region, and as an American living far north running such a business, Grant had his work cut out getting established in Montreal.

It was a good thing he wasn’t one who had any shortage of ambition.

Cobbs sauntered through the double doors behind him, approaching with that creeping silence and serpentine demeanor that was all his own. He placed a hand on his lover’s shoulder. “They found his body, some fishermen. He was known to drink, and it’ll probably be written off as a drunken accident. They’ll think he fell over a pier.”

Grant released a long sigh and put the papers down. He shrugged. “Perhaps. Maybe you should learn to control yourself, hm?”

“I try. I really do,” droned Cobbs, delicately stroking the other man’s hair. “I’m just so...protective when it comes to you, Samuel. You know that. He didn’t seem like he’d take your offer to absorb his company, and now he’s gone, so his business will die. One less small competitor.”

“I know you were trying to help, but I had it under control. He was starting to crack, to listen to reason.” Grant stood and turned, eye to eye with Cobbs. “If you go around killing everyone who could be a potential asset to me, not only will you eventually draw unwanted attention, but I won’t be able to conduct business. I won’t be able to grow. You do understand, right?”

Cobbs churned a devious smile, wrapped his arms around Samuel, sliding his hands down until they gripped the man’s buttocks. They shared a heated kiss. “Okay, I’ll try to refrain from making things difficult for you.”

“Good. Now, get to our room and take off your clothes. I think you need a spanking.”

“Mm.” Cobbs shivered, lifting a brow. “You’re the boss.”

“That’s right. I am. Now go.”

◄☼►

The sun shifted its predictable wide arc across the sky, obscured for most of the day by low-hanging snow clouds. It flurried once in the morning, and that lasted until just after noon. By the time dusk set in, the sky cleared up, allowing an unhindered view of the vast sea of stars.

Before nightfall, Declan stopped them and set up camp.

Cora obediently remained near the fire while he disappeared, promising to return shortly with dinner. Less than fifteen minutes after he left, Declan stepped into the glow of the campfire. She set aside the pistol Miss Elizabeth gave her, irritated that she hadn’t heard him approach. He moved so quietly to be so big, but she supposed nothing less could be expected. He was an expert at survival and living in the wilderness.

Sitting on the furs, bundled and warm, Cora watched him remove his coat then start skinning the rabbit he caught. He was a very mysterious man. She tilted her head. “How _did_ you catch that? You don’t have a trap or anything.”

Declan’s eye jotted to her a moment. His lips curled a smile. “Just a thing I do.”

“That’s not much of an answer,” Cora said, smiling a little as well. “I mean, I didn’t hear any gunshots either.”

He rumbled with laughter, yanking the pelt free of the flesh, downward. “Nah. You don’t use guns on rabbit. There’d be nothing left, nothing much you could eat anyway.”

She leaned forward, face in her hands. “So, how did you catch it?”

Declan remained quiet, drawing out her suspense, enjoying the innocent gleam in her gorgeous eyes. He sniffed and set the prepped rabbit aside, then reached into a deep pocket of his coat, pulling something out. “With this.”

Cora chuffed and nodded. “A slingshot. That makes sense. I never learned to use weapons really. Maybe you could teach me how to use that.”

“Yeah, maybe.” The Cree Irishman shoved the rabbit on a small spit and positioned it over the fire. He popped the cork on one of the waterskins and wet his hands, rubbing them together. He dried them on a cloth, then moved around to sit beside Cora. “So, you don’t even know how to use a gun?”

“Well, I mean...I know which end is the dangerous one,” she chimed sarcastically.

“Mm.” He reached for his sheath and hunting knife, pulling the weapon free. Its blade flashed by the light of the flames. “What about this? Know how to use one?”

Cora watched his fluid movements, the way he flipped and handled the knife. “Yes, actually. I have sent a lot of potatoes, carrots, and cabbages to their deaths, to end up in many delicious stews.”

Declan just stared at her for a long moment, then released more deep laughter.

“What?” Cora blinked.

“You’re funny, woman.”

“Well, I have to try to find the humor in my situation, now don’t I?” she mused with an accent that Declan had really come to enjoy.

His laughter tapered off, and he nodded. “Yes, I suppose you do.” Things went quiet for a minute or so, the two of them watching the flames, waiting for the juicy rabbit to cook. Declan turned to her, his good eye focusing on her beautiful face. When he spoke, it was low and careful, as he didn’t want to seem too nosy. “So...what was it like for you living down there. Captured in slavery? I mean, I know it wasn’t good. I guess I just want to know how you were personally affected. I heard stories about what slave masters do to the women…”

Cora watched him closely as he talked, waiting until he finished. “I’ll let you know right now that Master Cassidy never had his nasty way with me. But my mama saw him watching me a lot once my body curved up.”

It was all coming back to her. Her eyes drifted around to the fire, staring into it while she recounted an instance in her mind. She continued, words soft and far off.

“I remember the summer right before I turned fourteen. I was out at the stable with the horses. I loved looking at them, feeding them, brushing them, and Master Cassidy never said I couldn’t be there. So, there I was brushing my favorite horse, Rose of Sharon, when he stepped into her stall. He startled me and I dropped the brush. Smiling, his eyes roaming all over me, he walked towards me, told me how pretty I was, touched my hair, moved in really close so he could smell it. Then, he...he…”

She shuddered.

By now, Declan was engrossed by her recollection, hanging on the threads of her next words. He noticed that she shivered softly. Sighing, inwardly kicking himself for prompting her to talk about that part of her life, he scooted closer and put an arm around her. “Coralee, you don’t have to—”

“—he took my hand and put it on his body. Down there. And I could feel how much I excited him,” she spat quickly, closing her eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” Declan drone thickly, finding that anger had manifested itself just below the surface. He wanted very much to have a run-in with this Master Cassidy fucker. He sympathetically rubbed her shoulder.

Cora shook her head. “Don’t be. I needed to get it out. I snatched my hand away and ran from the stable as fast as I could, right to mama. I told her what happened, and she started crying. She said she had to save me from that. And she did. With the help of Lady Cassidy and some others, she got me off that plantation before he could rape me.”

She took a long, deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“The slave master’s wife helped you escape?”

“Yes. Miss Laura is a good person. She don’t love him. The only reason she married him was because she was given to him by her pa. She knows he beds his slaves often, and she accepts that. She had grown fond of me, and didn’t want her roaming pig of man to touch me. So, she helped me get away.”

“Mm,” Declan mused. “She sounds a lot like Grace.”

“Your friend in Fort James?”

“Yes. She helps a lot of people. Helped me once when I was...going through a rough time.”

Cora issued a nod. She considered asking him about his “rough time”, then decided there’d been enough dismal recollections for the night. “She sounds very nice. I can’t wait to meet her. How long will it take to get there?”

“We’re making good time. Got almost twenty-five miles in today. We keep this pace, I figure it’ll take two and a half to three weeks.”

“Okay.”

“If I was traveling alone, though, I could get there in a week and a half.” He offered a boyish smile and wink when she smirked over at him.

“So, whatchu sayin’ is I’m slowing you down.”

“Not at all. You’re actually keeping up well. Besides, I’m enjoying the company.”

“Mm-hmm, I bet. You’re just happy you have somebody out here to keep your big ass warm,” said as she shivered under his arm. The breeze had kicked up once the sun went down.

Declan howled with laughter. “Yep. I’m so lucky you’re here to keep me from freezing to death.”

He pulled his coat back on, and Cora happily settled into his warm side. When the brown-skinned beauty first left Montreal with Declan Harp, she just knew the company would be brash, boorish, and unbearable. But she quickly discovered that the frontiersman held a rugged charm that was very likeable; she found a new friend in the man who’d come to her rescue, a man she knew would risk his life to protect her as he’d protected so many others.

Declan Harp wasn’t what the paper reports said. He wasn’t evil, heartless, or uncaring. On the contrary, he was a very good person.


	4. A Bittersweet Reunion Brings an Unexpected Guest

Two days after Coralee’s departure from Montreal, Elizabeth Turner Rollins sat at the back of the large house and bake shop, mulling over a cup of bergamot tea in the kitchen. It was late morning, and the early rush had come and slowed down. Aurora and Darlene watched the storefront.

Elizabeth sighed down into her cup. She really missed Cora, such a sweet girl. The English aristocrat had grown to love her as the daughter she’d never have. Her uplifting presence had given the house a brightness it didn’t have before, and now that she was gone…

Well...

The atmosphere was dismal.

Aurora’s sudden burst into the kitchen nudged Elizabeth from her thoughts, and she eyed the younger woman, who was more pallid than a sheet.

“Aurora, what’s wrong?”

“I...you should come to the front, Miss Elizabeth. There’s a man here to see you.”

“Really…”

Elizabeth set her teacup down and followed Aurora through the house to the storefront. As soon as she passed through the curtains and saw the man standing on the other side of the wide counter, her heart caught in her throat. He wore thick leathers and some fur, but he wasn’t from around there. He also wore a slavecatcher badge around his neck; iit hung openly on the outside of his attire.

Angus saw her eyeing the badge. He produced a half-sneer, half-smile. “Good. You know what I am. You’ll also know I’m here about a runaway slave named Coralee Cassidy. I believe she lives in this fine establishment.”

Elizabeth’s features hardened. “You two go on to the back.”

Darlene, who’d been standing frozen at the far end of the counter, finally moved, hurrying off.

Aurora remained behind. She looked between Elizabeth and the slavecatcher. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine, dear. Go on along.”

Aurora nodded and slowly left.

“Now, it’s just you and me,” Angus drawled. “So, tell me: where is Coralee? And don’t act like you don’t know who I’m speakin’ about.”

“Oh, I know her, but I haven’t seen her in some time. She lived here for a while, then she left.”

“Hm, you don’t say.” Angus leaned to the counter, eyes sharp upon her. “And how long ago was it that she left?”

“I don’t know.” Elizabeth shrugged. Her eyes dropped a moment to the gun she had hidden behind the display case. Yes, she had guns concealed all over the house, and with good reason.

“You sure about that? She didn’t leave a couple of nights ago did she, with some fella named Declan Harp?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” Angus’s eyes darkened. “_Now, tell me where she is!_”

Elizabeth may have come from a background of luxury and not known a day of true hardship in her life, but that was where most people tended to misjudge her. They commonly mistook her pamperedness for weakness. She hardened her expression and narrowed her eyes moving up to the counter, staring down the slavecatcher on the other side. The gun she’d spied a few moments before was easily within reach now.

“Leave my establishment and never return. If you think you’re going to bully information out of me, you’re truly mistaken. I am not the one to threaten. I suggest you abandon the chase and go back south where you belong. You’ll never find her.”

While she spoke, Angus remained calm on the outside. Inwardly, however, he burned to strike a hand across her disrespectful face and slap that sense of entitlement clean out of her system. He looked her up and down, then finally nodded and conjured a sour smile. “We’ll see about that.”

He straightened from his lean and reached to snatch a cookie from a nearby display tray, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, chewing slowly. Then, he turned and left the storefront.

Elizabeth swallowed and took a breath. God, she hoped Mr. Harp kept Coralee safe. She knew this particular slavecatcher wouldn’t stop until he found her. First, he’d have to find out what direction the frontiersman took her.

◄☼►

Almost three weeks later, Cora sat next to Declan staring into the flames of their campfire and listening to the sounds of the night-shrouded wilderness around them. He was stretched out on his back, eyes closed, head perched on a rolled up fur, arms crossed over his chest. Since early in their travels from Montreal, Declan had resigned to letting the woman take part of the watch. Only a couple of hours each night, nothing too strenuous. He knew it made her happy to contribute, and it gave him just enough rest. She also knew that if she got too tired, she could wake him to take over, but that hadn’t happened yet.

There was no wind at their backs that night, as he’d set them up against a cliff that dipped inward, forming a slight lip over their heads. It was still very cold. She could see the forest stretching for miles below, the moon hanging bright in the sky. A foot or two of snowfall covered the landscape.

Cora shivered and moved closer until the sides of their bodies pressed together.

Declan’s eyes opened and focused on her. “You’re not warm enough?”

“I’m fine, Declan. Just not used to this damned cold. I don’t reckon I’ll ever be.”

“Here,” he started and sat up to reposition himself. “Let’s move closer to the fire.”

“Any closer and I’ll be cooking in it.”

He chuckled softly. “You have room. Go ahead.”

Coralee did as he recommended, inching towards the fire. She got as close as she dared, able to feel the heat through her traveling clothes and coat. She sighed with relief. Declan settled against her once more.

“That better?” he asked.

“Yes. Much.” Coralee spared a look sideward at him. They’d gotten closer over the last couple of weeks, talking and joking, sharing parts of their lives. A few nights ago, after some pressing from her, Declan revealed what happened to his family, that a man named Benton had killed them to spite him. Cora’s heart ached as he spoke of it, and she felt closer to him because he’d dared to share such a thing with her. Smiling, revealing soft dimples in each cheek, she patted a gloved hand over his, gripping it a moment. “Thanks, Declan. I really don’t know where I’d be right now if not for you.”

Declan’s eyes remained on her. He nodded and smiled. “I’m glad to help. You know this.”

“Yes, I do.”

And they stared at one another.

Cora wasn’t sure she could look away, a snake of nervousness uncoiling in her belly. She finally cleared her throat. “Well, you’d better get some sleep.”

“Yeah."

Declan saw her uneasy blush. A refreshing shyness. His good eye studied her firelit profile. He didn’t know what it was about Coralee Cassidy, but he had begun to harbor more than just friendly feelings for her. Maybe it was mutual, if the look they just shared was any indication. Or maybe he shouldn’t bother to put his damned heart out there anymore; things always seemed to end in death, loss, and destruction. He’d wrestled with the same kinds of feelings for Grace over the last few years, and had tamed them down so that their relationship remained platonic. It just made things easier to deal with.

Now, those feelings had risen again and were crashing upon him full force for a woman he’d barely known a month, and he couldn’t lasso them in. Try as he might, he just couldn’t. Perhaps he'd mourned the loss of his family long enough, and it was time to stop fighting.

Cora didn’t notice Declan watching her through half-closed eyes for a long while. Eventually, he allowed himself to drift into a very light sleep.

◄☼►

They rose the next morning and dropped into the same routine: a light meal, relief behind the nearest bush or cluster of foliage for Cora (Declan would just find a tree), camp packed up, and traveling resumed. They followed a river north until the treeline thinned and they could see an open body of water ahead from the hilltop upon which they’d emerged.

A big smile parted Cora’s lips, her eyes beaming.

Declan smiled down at her. “That’s James Bay.”

“We’re almost there?”

“Yes. We’ll reach Fort James tonight.”

“Oh, thank heavens! It feels like we’ve been walking _forever!_” She huffed.

They started moving west by northwest, following the shore, but sticking to the treeline.

Cora matched his pace, her smile still firmly planted.

“You keep it up and your face is gonna freeze like that,” Declan teased.

Coralee’s lovely features quirked when she wrinkled her nose at him. “I can’t help it. I’m happy to be almost done with all this hikin’ and campin’. Give me the city any day.”

The Cree Irishman chuckled. “It’s good for you. Teach you to survive.”

She raised a brow at him. “I was _surviving_ just fine before I had to up and leave my home back in Montreal. Now, I’m out here with bears, wolves, and god knows what other types of creatures.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you.”

“Uh-huh. You betta.” She smacked his arm. They went a few minutes in silence, then she looked over at him and said, “I’ve been meaning to ask: how’d you get the scar? You can’t see out of that eye, can you?”

The scar she spoke of started above his left eye, traced down over the lid and across his cheek. It was thin, pale, and old; he'd obviously gotten it some time ago.

“No,” he said. “It’s blind. I got in a brawl in a tavern when I was younger. Some asshole picked the fight because he didn’t like that I’m half Cree, ended up slicing me, damaging the eye.”

Sadness cloaked Cora’s features. “That’s awful.”

Declan shrugged broad shoulders. “It’s fine. He’s dead.”

“Why am I not surprised you killed him?”

The frontiersman shrugged again, smiling. “I used to wear a patch over it for a while. Thought it might make me look tougher.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “That is so you.”

◄☼►

They walked through most of the day, stopping twice for a few minutes to rest. As Declan promised, they crested a hill shortly after sundown and saw the warm lights of Fort James a couple of miles away, nestled along the bay. Moored ships lined the pier, while larger vessels remained anchored further out.

Fort James wasn’t nearly as big as Montreal, but Cora thought it was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen. Of course, it was probably her tired feet and urgent desire to sleep in a bed that made her feel that way. She couldn’t stop smiling as they finished up the last bit of their journey.

◄☼►

Grace Emberly stood behind the bar of the Ale House with hands on her narrow hips. Wisps of auburn hair fell over her forehead; she tucked them back behind her ear. As usual the place was rampant with activity. The Ale House was right off the main pier in Fort James. When visitors arrived, it was one of the first places they hit, as it offered not only good food and drink, but rooms for rent too.

The fiddler currently stood by the hearth and churned out an upbeat tune.

Governor Threadwell—useless lump of man meat that he was—occupied a table in one corner drinking his way through a second bottle and entertaining two women. Grace rolled her eyes at the spectacle. Fort James could certainly use an update in leadership. Still, she was grateful he didn’t try to tell her how to run her establishment or press his primeval women-shouldn’t-wear-pants opinions upon her. She wore pants and would continue to do so.

Mary returned to the bar after serving a few patrons. She’d been working for Grace for a couple of years now, taken in by the woman. “It’s getting busier as more settlers travel this way. Perhaps you should look into hiring on another person.”

Grace regarded her with a raised brow and a slight shrug. “Hm. I’ve been thinkin’ of doing that,” she said, her Irish accent strong and distinct. “Kin ye watch the front a moment? Need te grab a couple more bottles from the back.”

“Sure.”

Grace turned and slipped through the doorway behind the bar, taking her directly into her office that doubled as a storage room. While scanning the supply, she spotted movement to her left and flung her eyes that way.

Declan shifted completely from the shadows, wrapped in his furs. “Hello, Grace.”

“Declan,” she uttered, an easy smile claiming her features. The woman hurried across the room and into his open arms for a hug. “I havna seen ye in a while. How’ve ye been.”

“Good. I just got in from Montreal, and I’ve brought a friend…”

Declan released Grace, then pivoted aside to reveal Coralee standing behind him. She’d removed her hood. Her hair was styled for traveling, secured in several long braids. She offered a timid smile. “Hello. I’m Coralee. Nice to finally meet you.”

Grace blinked a few times. Tightness formed in her middle, spreading up through her chest. As disheveled and journey-worn as she was, the young woman was still quite beautiful. And she was there with Declan. Grace was caught off guard. But just because she was with him didn’t mean they were romantically involved. She returned Coralee’s smile and put her hand out. “Nice te meet you.”

Cora shook her hand.

“How did you two meet?” Grace asked.

“Well,” Cora started, “Declan saved me from slavecatchers. He said it would be safe for me in Fort James, so here I am.”

“Would you mind if she stayed with you for just a little while?” Declan pressed. “I’ve got coin to compensate.”

Coralee lightly smacked his arm. “Oh, hush. I don’t need you payin’ my way. I’m quite capable of pulling my own weight. I see that you have a respectable business here, Miss Grace, and I used to work in a tavern back in Montreal. I can earn my keep.”

It was instantly obvious to Grace by the interactions between Declan and Coralee that they’d really gotten to know each other. However, she wouldn’t allow her feelings to get in the way of what was right. Her pale eyes shifted from Declan to Coralee, and she smiled. “Ye can stay as long as ye need. We could certainly use more help with the place. And please, just call me Grace.”

Cora’s smile broadened and she nodded. “Thank you kindly!”

“It’s no problem. Well, let’s get you upstairs so ye can get out of those traveling clothes,” Grace said, leading them through the kitchen for the other door, the one nearest to the stairs.

“Thanks, Grace. You’re the best. I owe you,” Declan said.

She smiled, shaking her head. “Ye still owe me from two times before. I should probably stop counting.”

“Really, if you need anything, you only have to ask.”

“Believe me, I will. It’s nice havin’ the mighty Declan Harp wrapped ‘round muh finger,” she tossed over her shoulder jokingly.

Cora already liked Grace. She figured the woman had to be something special the way Declan spoke of her during their travels.

“Grace, can you also spare a room for me? A long bath would be nice.”

The Irishwoman nodded. “Of course.”

When they exited to the main room, Grace eyed Mary down the bar. The young woman examined Declan and the stranger, then nodded knowingly to Grace, before the three of them headed upstairs. The Ale House had eight rooms, and the one at the far end of the hall was Grace’s. Mary occupied another room, which meant that at any given time six rooms were available. Only two of the remaining rooms were being used.

Grace stopped by a door, pulled a key from her pocket, and unlocked it. She stepped inside and got the lantern going. The room was quaint, containing a bed, dresser, wash basin, wardrobe, and mirror. A set of clean folded sheets and towels sat at the foot of the mattress.

“I hope this suits you, Coralee,” Grace said.

“It’s just perfect. Thank you!” The young woman eyed the bed longingly. “You have no idea how badly I’m looking forward to a night _not_ sleeping on the ground.”

“Oh, I know the feeling.” Grace smiled softly. Her gaze went to the woman’s traveling bag. “Did ye bring any clothes with ye?”

“Nothing but undergarments.” Cora’s eyes slipped to Declan a moment, a blush rising. “We had to leave in a hurry. Literally, within a couple of hours of meeting this man, he had taken me from Montreal.”

“I see.” Grace nodded. “I should like te hear more about it sometime. I’ll put the bathing room kettles back on so you can get a nice bath. Once the water’s heated, I’ll send Mary up to fetch you.”

“Alright.”

Grace turned to Declan. “You can bathe after Coralee. Follow me.”

Cora waited until they left, then released a sigh. She set her bag down, dragging hazel eyes around the room. She moved to the single window, through which she could see James Bay and the pier. A group of redcoat soldiers marched by, heading for the garrison. Seeing them made her feel safer, since they patrolled Montreal too, maintaining the order. Their presence pushed back the estranged fear that the open frontier gave her. To Cora, the redcoats symbolized civilization.

Her slender shoulders rose and fell with a huff, and she turned to the long mirror, frowning at her reflection. She felt so grimy and highly anticipated the bath. While waiting for Mary—she assumed that was the woman Grace exchanged looks with before leading them upstairs—Coralee slipped the sheets over her mattress.

◄☼►

The Ale House’s bathing quarters was on the main floor on the opposite side of the room from the stairs. It contained a hearth that was used to heat three large kettles hanging by their handles over a rolling spit. When the water was warm enough, one had only to roll the kettles to the tub, position them over, and tip them in. After the bath, a little plug in the bottom of the tub was pulled to drain the water directly outside.

Coralee relished soaking in her bath. Mary provided her not only with a fresh dress and boots, but also a bar of soap that smelled like lavender. And Cora scrubbed until her skin tingled. Now, she was dry and dressed. She took her braids down to let her kinky, coily hair breath; it plumed fully over her shoulders.

She drained and cleaned the tub, then took her towel to the laundry drop in the storeroom.

Grace and Mary had closed the tavern a short while ago, and the only patrons on the premises were the two wealthy travelers that had rooms upstairs. The main room was eerily silent, and Cora found that comforting. She stood by the bar a moment to watch as Grace wiped a rag over the countertop and Mary swept the floor.

Declan was pitching in too, flipping chairs and placing them on the tables. He paused as his gaze settled on Cora. “Finally. I was beginning to think you’d fallen asleep in there.”

Cora smirked thinly. “I didn’t take that long.”

“It’s been about an hour.”

She shrugged innocently. “What can I say? I just wanted to make sure I washed the wilderness completely away.”

“Mm.” He chuckled down at her.

“I cleaned the tub; it’s ready for you. And I didn’t even use all the hot water. You’re welcome.” Cora nudged him playfully as she swept by. She continued his job of getting the chairs off the floor.

Declan merely narrowed his eyes at the woman, warmth and humor swimming in those mysterious depths. He finally turned, and long strides carried him to the bathing room, where he shut the door after him.

Grace observed the interactions between the man she’d grown to love much over the years and his new “friend”. In all the time she’d known Declan, she’d never seen the kind of light in his eyes like the one he currently had. Coralee may or may not realize it, but the frontiersman was falling in love with her.

Grace Emberly could see it, and it made her heart sink.

◄☼►

It took a week of digging in and around Montreal, but Angus finally got a clue on the whereabouts of Declan Harp and where he could’ve stolen off to with Coralee. Seemed the master frontiersman frequented an outpost named Fort James, and it was as good a place as any to start. He and his Black Wolf Company roamed the edges of civilization and the Undisputed Territories negotiating and moderating fur trades between the Indians and the whites.

Fort James was five hundred miles northwest. Angus and his men would have to cross some of the wildest terrain they’d ever encountered, and it didn’t help that the snows had set in. The slavecatcher was no fool. He fully recognized the wisdom in hiring a tracker to get him and his boys to Fort James. A tracker would know the land and where _not_ to tread. Didn’t want to end up in Indian territory, lest they find themselves stuck full of arrows.

So, that’s what Angus did. He found a pair of French trackers to lead his gang out into the Canadian wilderness.


	5. One Big Close Call

Cora awoke the next morning to faint raps on her door. Her hazel eyes flew open, needing time to adjust. The sun hadn't risen yet, and the darkness had just begun to peel back, indicated by the thin slit in her curtains.

“_Coralee,_” called a voice beyond the door. A voice she knew well.

The young woman scooted from bed, feet dipping right into her slippers. Clad in a bedgown that fell to her ankles, thick leggings, and tall socks, she went to the door, lifted the latch, and opened it. “Declan?”

He peered down at her, keeping his voice low. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I wanted you to know why I wouldn’t be here when you woke up. I don’t stay in town long these days. People know my face and how I”—his eyes jolted sideways while he tried to pluck the words from his thoughts—“conduct business, so it’s best if I keep out of sight.”

“You mean to say that you’re wanted for your retaliation against the Hudson Bay Company and don’t want to draw attention to yourself,” she summarized, keeping her voice low as well.

Declan nodded and produced a small smile. When he saw worry manifest on her face, gathering in her eyes, he quickly shook his head, instinctively brushing fingers along the soft line of her jaw. “Don’t worry. I won’t be far. I’ll be camped just outside Fort James, watching.”

“Well…” Cora took a breath, maintaining her calmness. She didn’t know anyone around there but him, and now he was kind of leaving her. “When will I see you again?”

He smiled. “Every day. I’ll be back after dark, unless something goes down and I have to hide for a bit. Don’t worry. Grace and Mary will take care of you. They’ve been doing this for a while.”

Cora finally nodded. “Okay,” she said softly. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Declan slowly scanned her lovely face, then turned to move away.

Before he could take one step, Cora suddenly grabbed one of his large hands in both of hers. “Declan, be careful.”

“I will,” he whispered.

Then he was gone.

Coralee sighed, shut and latched her door, then climbed back in bed.

◄☼►

Uprooting and moving elsewhere was never easy. Cora had done it twice now. From the plantation to Montreal, where she’d lived comfortably for three years, and now from there to Fort James. She and Declan had been there for two weeks with not a snag. He did as he said, staying outside the town during the day, venturing back in at night to visit her at the Ale House, checking on her.

Fort James wasn’t the best place, but it _was_ better than any plantation and had good company in the form of Grace, Mary, and, of course, Declan. Cora stood in the tavern’s kitchen stirring a big pot of cabbage stew. After a quick taste, she tossed some more seasonings in and gave it another stir, nodding in approval. Grace found out by speaking with Cora that she was a good cook. That was her job back on the plantation, working in the main house, primarily the kitchen. She could also bake up pretty much anything, a skill set honed sharp as a knife thanks to Miss Elizabeth’s shop.

Cora hummed pleasantly while she dashed with light feet around the kitchen. She stopped at the hearth oven to check her two pans of cornbread. They were browning up, almost done. She’d also baked three pies earlier, two apple and one pumpkin. Heavenly smells had been wafting out of the Ale House since sun-up.

Satisfied with things, Cora headed back to the front, which was quite busy. She could honestly say the place hadn’t experienced a slow night since she arrived. She imagined it was like that most of the time.

“Coralee, do you mind tending to the two gentleman at the table by the hearth?” Mary called, her voice sweet like a bell. “I think they want seconds.”

“Oh, yes. No problem!” Putting on a broader smile, Cora headed to the table. “I hear you gentlemen would like more stew?”

They regarded her closely, unable to keep their eyes from roaming over the exotic beauty. People like her were rare around those parts. They nodded, smiling.

“Sure would, little miss,” said one, his accent unmistakably British. “I aven’t had a stew this tasty in some time, not since me own mum’s, rest her soul.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Cora beamed, “I made it myself.”

“Oh did you?” asked the second man.

“Yes?” she nodded curtly, making the tightly coiled tendrils of her poofy mane shift whimsically around her.

“It’s superb. I should right like to kiss the chef, if she’d not mind.”

Cora’s eyes widened some, blinking. “I...um…”

The two men burst into laughter at her flusteredness.

“I’m just yankin’ your leg, little miss,” the second man said. “In seriousness, though, we’d like another round of that stew.”

“And more of that corn cake,” entered the first man.

Cora’s laughter rang crisply. “Cornbread.”

“Ah,” he said. “D’you make that too?”

“Yes.”

“You’re just full of culinary surprises.”

“Yes, I suppose I am. You might want to save room for dessert—apple or pumpkin pie. Guess who made them.”

Both men studied her, impressed. The second one called out enthusiastically, “I don’t care if I burst, I’ll ‘ave some of that apple pie, miss!”

Cora chuckled. “I’ll be sure to set aside a slice for you. Now, I’ll go get your stew and cornbread.”

The young woman went back to the bar.

“You seem to be getting along well, Coralee,” said Mary as she topped off a mug of ale for a patron. She hoisted a pretty smile. “The customers really love your food.”

“I’m just glad I can help out. I’ll be right back. Need more stew.”

“Okay.”

Cora hummed lowly, moving to the back. In the kitchen, she ladled cabbage stew from the big pot to a much smaller serving vessel, then set it on the counter. She went to the hearth, tested the cornbread with a few fork pokes, and decided it still needed another minute or two. She set the fork down, turned, and nearly gasped out of her skin, tumbling into Declan’s arms.

The man had been standing right behind her, and she never heard so much as a creaking floorboard. Cora smirked heavily up at him.

“Why do you do that!”

“Do what?” He countered, smiling boyishly.

“Sneak up on me! You almost gave me a heart attack!” Cora weakly punched his chest.

His chest.

She began to realize how close they were, how warm and solid he was.

“I’m sorry, Coralee. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he droned.

Cora stared up at him, studying his face, how the hearthlight played over it. She didn’t know what to say or do next. This was the most intimate they’d been during the time they’d known each other, and he was looking at her the way he had a few times before. With heat in his eyes.

Declan knew exactly what he wanted to do. He’d dreamed of it more than once since meeting the southern beauty. Slowly, taking in the warmth and smell of her, he brought his face downward, intent on tasting her lips.

Cora felt him drawing in, but she just wasn’t ready to elevate their relationship to that level; she was still trying to figure things out. Up until then, she'd lost every family member and friend she ever had. Her mother and two brothers, friends on the plantation. Miss Elizabeth and everyone back in Montreal. She'd had to leave them all. Cora subconsciously felt that allowing more to happen between her and Declan would eventually lead to him being taken away too. Given a little more time, she knew she could tear down that wall and allow herself to embrace her growing affection for the frontiersman. Just...not now.

Cora broke eye contact and shied away. “I...I should get back out there…”

Declan sighed and released her. He stood by silently while she nervously used thick potholders to remove the pans of cornbread from the hearth oven.

Carrying one pan, she stole a blushing look at him, speaking in a small voice. “Can you please grab that serving pot of stew. Thanks.”

Declan offered a sensuous smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Cora headed back to the front, and he followed. He stayed out of sight until she returned to take the pot, giving him a shy smile in the process. Declan was glad he hadn’t upset her with his bold advance. It seemed he just needed to give her time to adjust, and he could certainly do that. With the blooming glimmer of love in his eye, he stood at the edge of the doorway, hidden, watching Cora move around the room tending to patrons. He couldn’t promise that he wouldn't rage from hiding if any man in the establishment dared to playfully smack her bottom this time.

Neither of them saw Grace in the shadows at the far end of the room. She’d been doing inventory out at the storehouse and slipped inside the Ale House’s backdoor to catch their intimate embrace. She leaned against the wall, devastated, emotionally distraught. She always knew there was no guarantee she’d ever have Declan Harp, but she always thought she might. The harsh reality was that she didn’t stand a chance now. He’d found someone interesting enough to draw him from the cloud of sadness and angst that had lingered around him for so long.

Coralee.

Grace took deep breaths to gather herself and dry the unfalling tears in her eyes. Then, she put on a stern face and moved forward.

◄☼►

At the same moment, Declan didn’t know that his archnemesis was setting plans to trap and try him under English law.

Lord Archibald Benton sat behind the desk in his office at the Hudson Bay Company headquarters, located in London. He’d just had a tantalizing conversation with Captain Jonathan Chesterfield regarding Declan Harp’s attacks on the Company. The unruly, ungrateful half-breed mongrel was attempting to unite the smaller fur trading companies with the natives to gain the upperhand, and now his attacks on British soldiers had gotten out of hand. Harp and his band of hooligans had raided five HBC outposts and killed fourteen men loyal to the Crown in the last three months. And that was as of receipt of the last communique a couple of weeks back. Who knew how many more he’d killed since then?

Now, Lord Benton would return to the New World, to Fort James, where he’d assume control and immediately commence the hunt for Declan Harp. Two days after Chesterfield’s update, the two of them and a boatful of men set sail westward, unknowingly bringing along a young Irishman named Michael Smyth.

◄☼►

Three days after the “incident” with Declan, Coralee sat downstairs in the Ale House’s main room. She, Grace, and Mary had closed the place down for the night, and she relaxed with a cup of English black tea, staring into the nearby hearth.

Grace was in her office behind the bar, and Mary had retreated to her room upstairs.

Though the tavern was closed, Grace left the front door open so Declan could come and go as he pleased. He still had a room upstairs that he only utilized for sleeping at night. Coralee’s eyes dashed to the door and back to the hearth. He hadn’t been in that night yet. He usually showed up well before the place closed, then assisted with closing and cleaning.

But he hadn’t come, and she was getting concerned. Declan did say he’d come every night unless something came up that pressed him into hiding.

The young beauty sighed and sipped her tea.

Then, the door opened and shut.

Coralee turned and exhaled with relief. “Where have you been?”

“Sokanon, Samoset, and Dimanche, met me outside Fort James a couple of hours ago, filled me in about Tom Creely.” He lowered in the chair across from her.

Cora and Declan had exchanged a lot of information during their trek to Fort James. She learned that he headed the Black Wolf Company, with Sokanon, Samoset, and Dimanche being a few of his closest comrades. She also learned more about Creely, how he was supposed to be bringing a good trade deal for the Black Wolf Company, liaising with the Lake Walker tribe.

She studied him, gripping her mug to keep her hands warm. “What did you find out?”

“He’s dead. His body was found floating in the river the day after you and I left Montreal.”

“Heavens,” Cora huffed, shaking her head. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he planned on teaming up with the Black Wolf Company, then winds up meetin’ his maker soon after.”

“I don’t either. Someone killed him.”

“God, all this murdering, backstabbing, and cutthroat shenanigans. I was probably safer on the plantation.”

Declan saw how tightly wound she was then, probably worried that he hadn’t shown up sooner. He reached to draw a hand along her shoulder, down her slender arm. He smiled handsomely, voice soft and tender, “You’re safer with me.”

Cora didn’t shy from his touch. She knew he had developed deep feelings for her. Just because she’d never been with a man before didn’t mean she was unaware of when one took a liking to her. She was a grown woman, after all. And then there was also that moment with him back in the kitchen.

She reciprocated his smile, nodding. “Yes, I reckon I am.”

They watched each other quietly. Declan considered going for a kiss again, but abandoned the idea. He didn’t want to advance too strongly, no matter how much he ached to have her. The last time he’d been with a woman was a couple of months ago in Hurston, a sizable town south of Fort James, inland. She was nameless, pretty, and looking to make money, while he was lonely, frustrated, and looking for a warm bed.

The only reason he hadn’t taken up with any whores in Fort James was because he knew Grace would get wind of it somehow, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Though, he’d done that well enough by bringing Coralee there. Declan saw it on her face the first time she saw Cora, the surprised pain, and he was sorry for that, but he could only ever be friends with Grace now. All the years of keeping her at arm’s length had nullified the notion of romance. Declan still loved her dearly and always would. He’d give his life for her if it ever came down to it, would go whatever the distance.

As for his heart, a fire lit within it again for the first time in years. A flame for Coralee Cassidy. He smiled and gripped her small hand.

“Well, this explains why you’re not as pissed off and grouchy as usual,” came Sokanon’s voice.

Declan slowly pulled his hand away from Cora, and she coyly folded her hands in her lap, both of them looking towards the bar where Sokanon, Grace, Dimanche, and Samoset stood.

Grace kept her composure well to see another intimate moment between Declan and Cora. Her voice was steady when she spoke. “They came in through the back. There’re two extra rooms upstairs, if you'd all like to stay.”

“The cellar under the storehouse would be better,” said Sokanon. The Cree woman had stayed there a few times before. “It’s out of sight, and I don’t feel like rising before the sun to sneak from the Ale House.”

Declan grinned her way. “You sure? Nothing like a good rest in an actual bed.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Grace said, nodding. “I’ll get you some furs and blankets. If you’re hungry, I still have some stew left. Coralee made it.”

“I’ll take a bowl,” Declan beamed. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll have some too,” said Dimanche.

Sokanon and Samoset voiced their desire to have stew as well.

Cora stood and moved for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “Four bowls and cornbread coming right up. Give me a few minutes to heat it.”

Grace left to ready the hidden cellar.

When Cora disappeared to the back, Samoset, Dimanche, and Sokanon joined Declan at the table by the hearth.

“So, what’s going on with you and Coralee,” Sokanon asked simply. Amusement twinkled in her eyes while she watched Declan expectantly.

“What makes you think anything’s going on?” he countered.

She chuffed a short laugh. “Seriously? We all just saw you holding her hand.”

“That doesn’t mean there’s anything going on.”

“Right, okay.” Sokanon sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. Declan was like a brother to her, and she could read him as easily as a book with no cover. He had some deepening feelings for Miss Cassidy. However, she’d not press him about it.

The four of them talked quietly on business and next moves. The conversation eventually shifted to casual banter, and that’s how Cora found them when she brought their food out from the back. It made the young woman feel very good to see them smiling, laughing, and joking with one another. She was instantly reminded of her friends back in Montreal, the scene so warm, personal, and comforting.

◄☼►

Two days later, Angus and his crew arrived on the outskirts of Fort James. The sun peaked just over the rolling hills in the distance, steadily sinking. The leader of the slavecatchers turned to his two French scouts.

“Thank you boys for getting us here. That was probably the longest three weeks of my goddamn life. I fuckin’ hate the snow. I don’t know how you deal with it.”

Jean-Marc Rivard nodded, dredging up a friendly smile. “Eet is, how do you say, an acquired lifestyle. I know these lands like the back of my hands.”

“If you stay out here long enough, you get used to it,” entered Bastion Caron. He frequently traveled with Jean-Marc.

Colm, Shane, and Gunter looked miserable with their pale cheeks burned red by the cold, lips dry and cracked. Shane shifted from foot to foot, keeping the blood pumping.

“Well, you boys earned this,” Angus said, dropping a small sac of silver into Jean-Marc’s gloved hand. “Can I interest you in assisting me with one more little thing?”

“What?” Jean-Marc asked.

“I need one of you to stay out here with Gunter, while the other leads the rest of us into town. I’d really like to visit that tavern you told us about. Just a couple of days or so more of your time. I have coin for you.”

Jean-Marc and Bastien exchanged looks. They knew by the badges their employer and his men wore that they were slavecatchers, though Angus had instructed his crew not to speak of their business around the trackers. As far as Jean-Marc and Bastien were concerned, it wasn’t their place to ask questions. All they cared about was the money, and Angus Beecher was paying well.

“Okay,” said Jean-Marc. “I’ll take you into town. Bastien will remain.”

“But why I gotta be the one to stay out here?” moaned Gunter. “I can’t even feel my goddamn face no more!”

Angus sneered over at him, his words floating free on clouds of quickly dissipating heat vapor, “Shut yer whinin’. It ain’t that bad. Just another day or two, and you can come in to town. I need you out here in case the sheep gets spooked. If he’s here and decides to run with our girl, you and Bastien can track where they go. Now, find a good place to build camp.”

“Sheep gets spooked?” Jean-Marc studied Angus. “You are looking for someone?”

And now it was time for the reveal, after three weeks of traveling together in secrecy. Angus nodded. “Yep. Fella named Declan Harp.”

Jean-Marc tried very hard to keep surprise from taking over his face. He hoped Bastien did the same.

Angus’s eyes narrowed. “You know him?”

“No. I know _of_ him. He’s really infamous in these parts, a dangerous man,” Jean-Marc answered coolly. “Why are you after him?”

“Stole off with a slave we’re hunting. I believe he might’ve brought her up this way.”

“I see.” J.M. inwardly chastised himself. He’d done a lot of business with Declan and thought of him as a friend. And he had unknowingly led an enemy right into the Cree Irishman’s territory. There was nothing to do now but play along. “Well, we’d better get into town. It’ll be dark soon.”

“Lead on, friend,” said Angus, watching him very closely. “Gunter, we’ll be back soon.”

◄☼►

Cora stood in the Ale House’s kitchen staring down into a steadily simmering pot of ham and bean soup. It was almost finished, and she was stirring it ever so often. Since the night things got closer between her and Declan, right there in that very spot, she’d been mulling over it. He hadn’t let up, continuing to pursue her. Cora clearly saw the growing affection on his face when he looked at her.

And she wanted so badly to let go and return it.

But there was still that underlying fear. Fear of loss.

She sighed heavily, picked up the big wooden spoon, and stirred the soup. The frontiersman had been on her mind much lately, and that was mostly because she wasn’t sure how to approach their relationship. Right now, he was out in the cellar beneath the storehouse with Sokanon, Samoset, and Dimanche, and would venture inside when the Ale House closed in a few hours.

Satisfied with the soup, Coralee ladled some in the serving vessel, then started for the front.

◄☼►

Jean-Marc walked slightly ahead of Angus and his men. His gaze slowly skimmed as they got further into Fort James, dearly hoping that Declan wasn’t around.

Angus also studied his surroundings. It was a decent sized settlement. There weren’t any paved roads and a bunch of Indians roamed around, but other than that, it was nice. He studied the large body of water before them, the ships bobbing upon it. “That’s James Bay, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” said Rivard over his shoulder. “Just over here is the Ale House.”

The three slavecatchers followed him down a usually robust and crowded alley between merchant carts. During the day, commerce was in full swing and trade went on for hours.

Jean-Marc held his breath, paused, then pushed the tavern’s door open. He’d visited the establishment many times, and as he expected, it was bustling with patrons. A quick scan told him none of them were Declan Harp.

Busy tending to customers from behind the bar, Grace met Jean-Marc’s eyes, and a silent greeting passed between them. He led Angus, Shane, and Colm for an empty table.

◄☼►

Cora rounded the doorway from the back and stopped dead still. Her breath trapped in the back of her clenched throat. Ice chilled her veins. And she dropped the soup, quickly retreating around the corner, falling with her back to the wall, sliding down. She shivered and cried.

Angus Beecher!

She’d never mistake that man’s face, not even the profile presented to her as he headed across the room for a table. Now Cora realized that the slavecatcher who’d tried to capture her was working with that evil son of a bitch. What other reason would he be in Fort James? He tracked her there.

Unmindful of the soup spilled on the floor all around her, Cora continued sobbing.


	6. On the Road Again

The sound of the pot clattering to the floor was mostly swallowed up by the tavern’s busy atmosphere. Grace and Mary heard it, since they worked behind the bar. Mary was the first one to reach Cora. She tipped through the soup, lowering before the trembling, crying woman.

“Coralee? My goodness, what’s the matter?” Mary coaxed softly, reaching to take her hand.

Cora sniffled a big breath, shaking her head hysterically. “I...he..._Oh my god he found me!_”

“Who’s found you?”

“What’s goin’ on?” Grace came around the corner. She eyed the spilled soup, then her concerned gaze moved to Cora. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Mary answered. “She said someone’s found her.”

Cora pushed the lump of dread from her throat and found her voice again, though it quivered frightfully, “The man who just came in with that group. I know him. He’s a s-s-slavercatcher. He’s here for me.”

Tears rolled down the beauty’s cheeks.

“Shit.” Grace backed slowly to the doorway and peered out into the main room. Jean-Marc and the three strangers sat at a table by the windows. The French trapper looked a little apprehensive. She pivoted back inside. “Alright. Mary, clean this up, then get Declan in here. Take care you're not seen. I have to tend the front, keep things normal. Everything’s going to be okay, Coralee. Ye just stay back here, out of sight.”

Cora issued a few nods, taking Grace’s offered hand, rising from the floor. She slowly moved to a place where she could see into the main room between the stacked two-way liquor barrels. Dread flared in her again to see Angus across the way, looking as maniacal as ever.

◄☼►

Less than ten minutes later, the tavern’s back door opened, and Declan hurried through, followed by Mary, Sokanon, Samoset, and Dimanche. Coralee instantly felt safer with Declan’s presence. She ran to him, wrapped arms around his middle, and cried into his chest.

The frontiersman held her dearly a moment, kissing the top of her head. Carefully, he pulled back so he could see her face. “Is he still out there?”

She nodded quickly.

Declan moved up to the wall of booze barrels, Cora right at his side. Finding a crack to see through, his good eye scanned the room.

“At the table with Jean-Marc Rivard,” Mary said. “The burly one.”

Declan zeroed in immediately. He frowned. “Just like wild dogs, traveling in packs. At least it’s three now instead of four. Why the hell did Rivard bring them here?” he voiced deeply, speaking more to himself.

Cora mewled beside him, her voice distant and low in tone. “I don’t know the other two, but his name is Angus Beecher. He’s a foul, devious man who works as an overseer for Master Cassidy, watches the field slaves. The things he’s done would make the most evil person look like a saint. Once, a slave named Benjamin ran away, and Beecher caught him. To teach us all a lesson, he heated a big cauldron of oil and made us watch as he forced Benjamin into it. God, I will never forget the sound of his screams, and you c-could smell his f-flesh cooking…”

Cora’s voice trailed off into sobs.

The others regarded her with the highest sympathy. Even Sokanon’s usually stern expression went melancholy.

Declan gave Cora a tender look, hugging her against him. "It's alright. I won't let him take you." He swung his half-blind visage to Mary. “I need to speak to Rivard. Think you can get him back here?”

The quiet, unsuspecting young woman nodded. “I think so.” They all watched her adjust her already brimming bosom, then breeze off.

“Coralee,” Declan started, watching her sadly, “I’m sorry to say this, but we have to leave again.”

“And go where!” she moaned. “We’re already at the edge of the world! Ain’t much else where to go!”

Declan exchanged looks with Sokanon and Samoset, but spoke to Cora. “A bit further northwest, to the Tribe.”

“I’m not against it,” Sokanon said, “but are you sure that’s the best thing? The Tribe doesn’t just allow outsiders to stay.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll think of something.” Declan nodded. “It’s the safest place for her.”

“I must agree with Sokanon,” entered Samoset, his wise visage set firmly on Declan. “There are laws that prohibit outsiders from staying. This you know, my friend. Hell, it took more than a few trials and proof of worth before I, a fifteen-year-old boy displaced from his own people, was allowed to become part of the Forest Cree Tribe. My concern is that they will not let her stay, even when you get her all the way there.”

“Like I said, I’ll think of something.” Declan was done on the subject. He was taking Coralee to his people. “Sokanon and Samoset, go to the Lake Walkers and tell Kamenna about our setback with Tom Creely. Let her know that I’m already working on finding new buyers for their furs, just need a little more time. Dimanche, I need you to get a message into Forest Cree territory after I write it.”

Everyone nodded at their leader, the Black Wolf. Coralee clung to his arm, feeling defeated and misplaced all over again. Would she ever be able to stop running?

◄☼►

Mary appeared from the back, giving Grace a side glance, then sashayed over to Jean-Marc’s table. Before the man could speak so much as a greeting, she sat on his lap and pulled his face into her bulging bosom, then kissed him squarely on the lips.

“I was wondering when you’d get back this way,” she breathed, commanding his eyes to hers. “I reeeally need to talk with you...in private.” Mary purred and traced a finger over his ear.

Angus, Shane, and Colm watched the display in high amusement.

“Um…” Jean-Marc had actually dreamed of such moments with the cornsilk-haired vixen, and couldn’t find many words. “Oookay.”

Angus laughed heartily, he and his boys eyeing Mary hungrily. He smacked Jean-Marc on the shoulder. “Better git on to that talk, boy!”

Mary stood, took Rivard’s hand, and pulled him for the back rooms.

“Good goddamn, she’s purty,” chimed Shane. He started looking around anxiously. “Maybe there’s another one ‘round here for me!”

Angus and Colm howled loudly with laughter.

◄☼►

As soon as Rivard disappeared from the main room and entered the storage place, he saw everyone standing around Grace’s desk. He would’ve rather faced anything else in that moment other than Declan’s dark scowl.

Jean-Marc did the only thing he could. He offered a very small smile and wave. “Hello, friend.”

“Friend?” Declan said lowly. “You might want to rethink the meaning of the word. Why’d you lead those animals here?”

Seeing now that he wasn’t about to get a personal session with Mary, Jean-Marc hurried forward and more into the lantern light. He raised his hands defensively, keeping the volume of his voice hindered as well. “I’m sorry, Declan. I didn’t know the nature of their business until we reached Fort James. During the whole trip up from Montreal, they didn’t speak on it.”

“Yet, you didn’t stop to think that a group of slavecatchers was bad news? You do see the badges around their necks, right?”

Jean-Marc shrugged. “What can I say, eh? I realized their profession, but men like them are not unheard of up here. It wasn’t my place to question them, especially when the coin is right.” His eyes flipped to Coralee, who stood close to Declan. Obviously, she was the one Angus and his men were after. “Sorry, miss.”

Cora sighed, firelight swirling through her hazel eyes. “It’s not your fault, I guess.”

Jean-Marc looked to Declan again. “You should know they’re not just after her now. They’re after you. Out at the table they talked about how you killed one of their men back in Montreal. Seems they intend to return the sentiment.”

Declan’s features tightened. “Let ‘em try.”

“Declan, please,” Cora pleaded. “You have to stay away from that man. Beecher is dangerous.”

He turned his gaze down to her, and fear gripped Cora momentarily at the look in his eyes. It read of a man who was not to be tampered with, a man who would kill in an instant if necessary, without the faintest bit of remorse. “I promise you he’s not more dangerous than me.”

“I have to get back out there to help Grace,” Mary entered. Her crystal-blue eyes went to Rivard, “which means you should go back too.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” the French trapper said. “Oh, Declan, you should also know that there is a fourth man in Beecher’s group. He ordered him to stay camped just off the south road in case you tried to leave that way. Bastien is with him.”

Declan nodded, and long hair fell over his face. “You keep an eye on those catchers out there.” He jabbed a finger towards the main room.

“I will do what I can,” Jean-Marc sighed, mumbling in French as he followed Mary from the back, “Comment puis-je toujours être pris dans ces dégâts?” _How do I always get caught in these messes?_

◄☼►

Mary made sure to give a show of sending flirty eyes and smiles at Jean-Marc when they both emerged from the back. She went behind the bar with Grace, while he slipped back through the room to the table with Angus, Shane, and Colm.

“That was kinda fast, friend,” drawled Angus.

“Oh, well, she just wanted some kisses in private.” Jean-Marc grinned lightly. “But she promised to give me more once she’s done with work!”

“Atta boy!” Colm hooted.

Angus pushed his chair back and stood. “Be right back.”

He moved for the bar, meeting eyes with Grace in his approach. The auburn-haired woman was just as lovely up close.

“What kin I get for ye?” asked Grace.

“You must be the owner of this fine establishment. Heard a little about you before I arrived in town.”

“Really?” Grace’s composure was impeccable. She wasn’t a woman easily shaken. “I hope it was all good.”

Angus chuckled. “It was actually. How about a mug of ale, your finest.”

“Coming right up.” Grace reached below the bar for a cup and set it on the counter. She grabbed a bottle from the shelf behind her.

While she poured Angus’s drink, another man, a regular soldier stationed at the fort, entered the tavern, walked up, and leaned casually to the bar.

“‘Ello, Grace.”

“Sergeant Tomilson,” she answered, flipping a glance.

“I was wondering if Coralee is around.”

That single sentence weighed down the air heavily between Angus and Grace. The Irish tavern owner mustered every ounce of restraint to keep her features neutral. Angus’s head snapped around, and he stared at the sergeant.

Turned as he was, Angus’s slavecatcher badge wasn’t seen by Sergeant Tomilson. He addressed the young soldier casually. “Coralee. She sounds like quite a lovely lady. Say, what does she look like?”

At this point, Grace knew there wasn’t much she could do now but improvise, so she set the bottle of ale aside and listened.

Tomilson’s smile came easy. “Well, she is very pretty. A negro lady of the south.”

“I see,” Angus mused, before his piercing eyes rested harshly on Grace.

“So, is she around, Miss Emberly?” Tomilson asked. “I spoke with her a couple of days ago regarding some tea I brought from London. I know she likes tea. I’ve come with a tin of it for her.” The young man tapped the package under his arm.

Grace licked her lips, cleared her throat, and took a breath. Her eyes flashed for a second at Angus, who was watching her intently. “That’s sweet of ye, sergeant, but she’s gone.”

“What! Gone! Gone where?” Tomilson’s features sank. He still scanned around the room as if he didn’t believe Grace, hoping to see Coralee drifting around the room tending to customers.

Grace shook her head. “I don’t know. She just...moved on.”

“Wow...that’s...terrible news.”

Grace and Angus watched the man shuffle slowly off, clearly distraught that the lovely Coralee had departed and he hadn’t gotten the pleasure of simply talking to her again before hand.

Angus picked up his mug and took a long drink. “So, this negro named Coralee—I think you _do_ know where she went. When did she leave? Or maybe she’s still around these parts somewhere?”

Grace peered down her narrow nose at him, her patrician features conjuring a faint sneer. “She’s not in Fort James. And even if I knew where she went, I’d not tell the likes of you.”

He ignored her tone. “She traveling with a man named Declan Harp?”

“People like you disgust me.”

Angus drew forward across the counter, baring his teeth.“And people like _you_ disgust me. Goddamn nigger lovers.”

“Get out.” Grace fumed with anger, and the fire of it blazed in her eyes. “_Leave!_”

The slavecatcher looked her up and down, chuffed, and pushed from the bar. Grace watched him go to the table and say something to his friends—she couldn’t hear it over the tavern’s atmospheric bustling and the fiddler. Then, they all left, including Jean-Marc.

The instant they were out the door, Grace nodded to Mary, who went to the back. As soon as she passed through the door, Sokanon was there. She’d been watching the exchange between Grace and the one named Beecher, gaining by their body language and taunt expressions that the conversation was a serious one.

“What happened?” the Cree beauty asked.

“He knows Coralee is here or, at least, that she passed through here,” Mary said. “Someone should follow them, see where they’re going. If Coralee’s going to sneak out, it’d be no good to have them stalking around the Ale House.”

“Good idea,” Declan entered.

“I’m on it.” Sokanon was already heading for the back door.

“I’ll go with her.” Samoset followed.

“Wait,” Declan called after them. “I’m getting Coralee out of town tonight. Meet up down by the river.”

Sokanon and Samoset nodded, then went to trail Angus’s group.

Coralee had resigned to silence mostly, wondering why her life had to be so complicated. She occupied a chair near Declan. Leaning over Grace’s desk, the Cree Irishman used a quill, ink, and parchment to compose a short, cryptic message:

** _M,_ **

** _I have made a business arrangement for quality furs._ **

** _Meet me at the place away from everything. I will be carrying a special package._ **

** _May your journeys be safe._ **

** _-D_ **

Declan rolled the paper and slipped a hide loop around it to keep it bound, then held it out to Dimanche. “I need you to get this into Forest Cree territory, please. They trust you. Just hand it over to the first scout you see; they’ll know what to do. Do _not_ speak of Coralee to anyone. I want this untraceable.”

Dimanche was of the River Dwellers. It was the same tribe as a man named Wahush, Sokanon’s betrothed for a marriage that never happened because she chose a life following Declan instead. The River Dwellers and Forest Cree had an alliance, strengthened by marriages between the two tribes.

Dimanche nodded and took the note, tucking it in his traveling pouch. “It will be done. I’ll leave tonight. But are you not heading up there anyway?”

“I need to try to throw them off her scent, gonna loop south. So, we’ll be traveling slower by a week or so. You can get up there quick, deliver that note.”

“I understand.”

“Thanks, Dimanche.” Declan laid a hand to other man’s shoulder, who returned the gesture with a nod.

“Coralee,” Mary said.

The southern woman’s eyes lifted from her folded hands to Mary. She’d been listening to everyone talk, while pondering her situation. “Yes?”

“I’ll go up and fetch your things.”

“Should be easy. I never really unpacked.” Cora wondered if she’d ever settle somewhere long enough to unpack again. “Thank you, Mary.”

“You’re welcome. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Cora lifted the very smallest of smiles at the other woman, who left the back rooms through the door closest to the stairs.

Declan reached over to gently touch Cora’s shoulder, giving her a reassuring nod.

◄☼►

A couple of hours later, Grace and Mary shut the Ale House down as usual. Sokanon showed for a moment to report that Jean-Marc took the slavecatchers to an inn on the other side of town, and that Samoset was watching the place for movement. She would go back to Samoset, and the two of them would head for the rendezvous place at the river in an hour, giving Declan and Cora enough time to skip out.

Now Grace, Mary, Declan, and Coralee stood just inside the trees behind the tavern’s storehouse.

Grace’s eyes drifted from Coralee to Declan, and she sighed. Despite all of the demons following him around, he really was a good man. “Both of you be safe. There’s always a place for you here, Coralee.”

“Thank you, Grace.” Cora couldn’t restrain the tears from building up in her bright eyes. Emotions wrestled within her, and the only thing she could do was cry, even though she didn’t want to. She jerked forward and wrapped arms around the slender tavern owner, hugging tightly. “You put yourself in harm’s way for me, and I’ll never forget it. I owe you!”

Grace closed her eyes a moment, returning the embrace. She pulled back to lock her gaze on Cora’s. “It’s alright. You owe me nothing, ye understand? Nothin’ a’tall. You stick with Declan; he’ll keep you safe.”

Declan nodded when Grace’s eyes met his.

Cora sniffled and smiled. She hugged Mary as well. “Ya’ll are fine ladies. I’ll miss you.”

“We’ll see each other again. I know it,” Mary said.

Cora nodded. “We will.”

“Thanks, Grace.” Declan pulled her close for hug, which she secretly revelled in, enjoying his warmth and scent. “Be careful with those slavecatchers.”

“I will. Now you two get along while you still have the cover of night.”

Goodbyes came to an end.

Declan and Coralee headed into the trees, deeper into the forest, while Grace and Mary watched until the shadows swallowed them into darkness. The frontiersman was taking them for Fort James’s south road. He was going to find that camp with Angus’s single man.

◄☼►

Gunter sat across the fire from Bastien sipping on some whiskey he picked up in Montreal. His lips peeled back, and he cringed, then burst into laughter.

“Boy, this shole is good,” he exclaimed. “You want some?”

Bastien, who had been carefully watching the other man since it was revealed that his gang hunted a friend of his, produced a little smile. The night was even colder than the one before, winter’s fingers clenching in like the talons of a northern predator. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, c’mon now! Ain’t no fun in drinkin’ alone, not when the drink is good.”

“I really shouldn’t. Need to keep my wits about me in case any wolves or something comes along.”

“Wolves?” Gunter licked his lips, scanning the surrounding woods. The south road into Fort James was just beyond a dense grove of spruce trees.

“Yes, packs of gray wolves make their homes in the area.” As if on cue, a lupine howled in the distance. The moan came from a good mile away. Bastien shrugged. “See?”

“Damn, that sounded close,” Gunter said lowly. His eyes shot to the trees again, squinting into the darkness.

“No, not as close as you think. Besides, they tend to stay away from campfires. I think you’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Gunter grunted and got to his feet. “I gotta piss somethin’ crazy, and I don’t need no wolves sneaking up to bite my prick off.”

The slavecatcher guffawed heartily as he trundled towards the nearest tree at the edge of their camp. His eyes closed a moment as he pissed into a snow drift. He finished, fixed his pants, and turned.

Then, a large fist bashed into his face, bringing spots to his vision.

Gunter cried out and stumbled, grabbing his seeping nose, blood gushing between his fingers.

Declan swung again, taking the man to the ground. He instantly dove on Gunter, wrapping hands around his neck, applying unforgiving pressure, leaning his weight. “I hear you and your chickenshit crew are looking for me. I’m Declan Harp.”

Gunter flailed and struggled under him. He caught glances of Cora in the background through blurry eyes. The woman was clad for the weather in a fur coat and leathers, her hood flipped up around her face. Bastien stood beside her observing tensely. There was no way he was getting in the middle of it.

The frontiersman lowered his face closer to Gunter, eyes wild, teeth bared. “I’m taking her”—he nodded over his shoulder—“back to Montreal. I suggest you bumpkin hicks go back south. _Far_ fucking south. _Leave. Her. Alone._”

Gunter wheezed, struggling under Declan’s strength.

Declan wound his fist and slugged him a few more times, thoroughly rattling him. Gunter would be out of commission long enough for him and Coralee to get away. After a long, dire look at Bastien, Declan took Coralee’s hand and pulled her from the light of the campfire, blending back into the trees, heading south.

Lying in the snow, dazed and coughing blood through his busted lips, Gunter saw their retreat.

“Merde,” Bastien uttered, eyes wide. _Shit_.


	7. The Iron Bull

Coralee matched Declan’s pace as the two of them traversed swiftly down a low hill. The snow was over a foot thick. The moon’s pallid glow fazed in and out when clouds drifted like a veil across its pale face. Instinctively, Cora kept looking over her shoulder, expecting to see the slavecatcher giving chase. She missed a step and staggered, catching her balance.

“You need me to slow down? I can, Coralee.” Declan turned to study her, his hair lifting gently on an icy breeze.

The young woman hardened up, shaking her head. “No, I’m fine. Should’a been looking where I was goin’, that’s all. Let’s go.”

Declan sighed and studied her. She was being so strong. It really tugged his heart that she had to live in such a way, on the run. But no more once he got her to the Tribe. He’d figure out something so she could stay there.

“Alright,” he answered gently, then turned and led the way.

◄☼►

A half hour later, they approached the low flames of Sokanon’s and Samoset’s camp near the river. Both of them were on alert when Declan and Cora shuffled down the embankment. Cora moved to the fire and set her pack down. She stared across the black mirror of the steadily flowing river, only the moon’s haunting visage reflected upon it.

Samoset watched the woman a moment. She looked so sad and lost. He hoped things worked out once Declan got her north to the Tribe.

“Why’d it take so long for you both to get here?” Sokanon spoke, then her features adopted a vaguely amused smile. “Or do I have to ask?”

Cora certainly heard the implications in her voice. She yanked eyes to the other woman, whose smile expanded at the sight of Cora’s blush. Cora looked away quickly.

Declan rolled his eyes. “You have a dirty mind.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“We made a stop at that camp Rivard mentioned, the one with the fourth slavecatcher.”

“You kill ‘em?” Sokanon’s eyes gleamed hopefully.

“No, just beat on him a bit,” Declan said. “And I left a message for him to carry on to his leader. I told him I’m taking Coralee back to Montreal, and not to follow.”

“You think that’ll be enough to deter them?” entered Samoset. The campfire traced over the regal lines of his Native features.

Declan shrugged. “I hope so. I plan to take us south for a couple of days, then cut back around northwest. I’ll be sure to make it clear where we camped. Those simpletons don’t know these lands and will probably get a tracker to take them south—”

“—if they take the bait,” cut Sokanon.

“Yeah, if they take it,” Declan said. “The tracker will follow the camps and rest spots, which clearly go south. With luck, those catchers’ll go back where they came from.”

“You shouldn’t underestimate Beecher,” came Cora’s soft voice. She’d been listening intently to the conversation while staring out over the water. She turned to the others. “He’s a master tracker. That’s what he does. Chases slaves. I understand that he’s not from these parts, but he’s traveled from Montreal to here, and I have to believe he’s adapted to these conditions enough that he could track us if he wanted to.”

Declan nodded, taking consideration of her words. “I just hope he gets the message and stops chasing you.”

“Me too.” Cora sighed and turned back to the water.

Declan addressed Sokanon and Samoset. “The plan is still for you two to go meet with Kamenna.”

“And after that?” questioned Samoset.

“Return to Fort James, check on Grace and Mary. Also, keep your ears to the ground regarding HBC fur movements. I plan to hit a few of their more lucrative caches.”

“Okay,” Sokanon nodded. “We’re staying here tonight and will move at first light.”

“I figured as much.” Declan’s eyes went to the lean-to. “May your journeys be safe, and we’ll meet up again soon.”

That was Cora’s cue. She turned and grabbed her pack from the ground, pulling it on. When she met Samoset’s and Sokanon’s gazes, she saw empathy and warmth therein. They understood why Declan had developed a love for her. She was not only beautiful, but fresh, spirited, and endearing. She reminded him of why he fought so hard for the rights of those oppressed.

After sharing a silent goodbye with two of Declan’s closest friends, Cora turned and followed her large protector down the rocky river shore, heading south.

◄☼►

At the same time that Cora and Declan headed away from Fort James, Bastien and Gunter entered the outskirts of the prominent trading town. They got past the sign post, seeing the dim lights of the settlement just ahead.

Bastien spotted a familiar figure moving towards them; his large fur hat gave him away. It was his best friend.

“Jean-Marc!” he called.

“Bastien!” Jean-Marc hurried to them. He examined the bruised and bloodied Gunter, who hunkered beside Bastien. “Bon gracieux, ce qui s'est passé!” _Good gracious, what’s happened!_

“C'était Declan. Il est venu des bois, l'a battu à la merde.” _It was Declan. He came from the woods, beat him to shit._

“Putain d'enfer...” _Fucking hell…_

Gunter shot fully to his feet, instantly regretting the quick movement since it made his pounding head throb further._ “English, goddamit! Speak English!”_

“Sorry, _monsieur_...er...sir,” said Jean-Marc. “Come, we need to get you into town.”

◄☼►

Angus sat on one of two beds in the room polishing his slavecatcher badge. The inn Jean-Marc took them to was the only place in town beside the Ale House that offered room and board. There were three times as many rooms, and it was busy. He and his boys were lucky to get the one room to share between them.

Colm occupied the other bed, and Shane had unrolled his fur mat before the fireplace. All was quiet, until a frantic knock came at the door.

“Angus! Ya’ll in there!”

The slavecatchers all stood, while Angus moved forward to pull the door open. A harsh frown instantly carved his features. “Gunter! What happen to you, boy!”

Gunter sighed his way through the door, being more dramatic than necessary. He tilted his head back and pinched his nose, though it had long since stopped oozing blood. Jean-Marc and Bastien went inside as well, and Angus shut the door.

“It was Harp!” wailed Gunter. “Snuck up on us at camp, jumped me while I was taking a piss!”

Excitement ignited in Angus, sparkling in his eyes. “You saw ‘im! What’d he look like? I knew that sonovabitch was still ‘round here.”

“He’s big, I mean, _real_ big,” Gunter said, arms spread ridiculously apart to gauge Declan’s width; Bastien rolled his eyes at the exaggeration. “And he gotta be at least seven feet tall.”

_Closer to six and a half,_ Bastien mused silently.

Angus had gotten a description of Declan back in Montreal. People said he was a big, wild, half-breed. Seems they spoke true. The slavecatcher’s eyes narrowed. “Why he ain’t kill you?”

_“Like I fuckin’ know!”_ Gunter spat, then shot eyes to Bastien. “And that yellow-belly ain’t do nothin’ but watch!”

Bastien shrugged, hands raised in his defense. “Going fist-to-cuffs with Declan Harp was not part of our business arrangement.”

“You coulda picked up m’gun and shot him!”

“Like I said, not my business.”

Gunter turned to Angus. “That big fucker had the girl with him. Said he was taking her back to Montreal, and that we better go on home and stop chasing her.”

“Oh, did he now? I guess that means we’re heading south again, boys.”

“So, we’re going back to Montreal?” chimed Shane. “Hallelujah! It was nicer there.”

Angus went to the table and grabbed up a small sac containing a few pieces of silver. He handed it to Jean-Marc. “You two done did good. I think we can get to Montreal ourselves.”

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” Jean-Marc said. “I would say it was a pleasure doing business with you, but it doesn’t look to have been very pleasurable for him.” He referred to Gunter and his busted face.

Gunter snarled at him.

“Well, we’ll be off,” Bastien said, then he and Jean-Marc quickly left.

Angus waited a good ten seconds, then spoke to Shane. “Go check to see if they’re gone.”

Shane stalked to the door, opened it, and didn’t see either of the French trackers up or down the corridor. He shut the door. “Yep, they’re gone.”

“We aren’t going back to Montreal, boys,” Angus announced.

“We ain’t?” Colm stared at him.

“Hell no. I just wanted those two trackers to think we were. I don’t trust ‘em. That Jean-Marc got weird the moment I mentioned Declan Harp. He and the other fella probably know him.”

“I dunno, Angus,” Gunter spoke up, “They was headin’ south when they left the camp. And it ain’t too far-fetched to believe he’d take Coralee back to the city. She got powerful friends there to help her, like that English lady she was staying with.”

“And if they thought they could actually protect her, she wouldn’ta left with Harp and headed up here. She wouldn’ta ran,” Angus said. “Bottom line is Coralee belongs to Master Felton Cassidy, _his property_. As much as the nigger-loving north wants to impede on our ways and talk down on our great land, they ain’t got no say in southern law, regardless of if a slave flees to the north. Coralee’s rich white friends know this, which is why they sent her off. So, we ain’t leavin’. Harp’s still up here in the north somewhere, and I’mma find ‘im. I ain’t leavin’ without that girl, and I think I’ll take his head too. It’ll look good on my wall.”

Again, the other three slavecatchers pondered the words of their leader in silence. The fire snapped softly in the background.

“So, if we ain’t goin’ back to Montreal and we don’t know where Harp is, what’s the next move?” Gunter asked stiffly, wincing when his split lip smarted.

"We’ll start asking around tomorrow, get some more information about our half-Indian friend. These are his huntin’ grounds. He’s known best around here. Somebody will give us a hit, and when they do, we’ll move.” The sliver of a smile curled Angus’s lips. He loved a good chase and worthy opponent, and Declan Harp was checking both boxes.

◄☼►

There was no way to know what Angus would do, though Declan hoped he took the bait, found a tracker who led them south, and picked up the trail the frontiersman left for them. It was a longshot, but he could hope.

He and Coralee spent the night huddled together in a small camp. Like all the other times they found themselves traveling in the wild, he put her between himself and the fire to keep her warm. They had a minimal breakfast of cured caribou, pan bread, and a mixture of dried nuts and berries. Once Declan had gone around the camp to tousle things up, making it evident they’d been there, he and Cora continued south.

There weren’t any mountains in those parts, but a long spine of large, rocky hills ran along the west, on the other side of the thin river they followed. Declan noted she seemed much more optimistic since they departed Fort James. He spared looks to see that she observed the pristine winter surroundings with enchanted wonder. Everything was blanketed in snow—the tree branches, boulders, river bank, and landscape. Fat flakes drifted lazily from a heavily overcast sky.

“Beautiful out here, isn’t it?”

Coralee looked over at him, her cheeks blushed by the cold. She lifted a smile. “Yes, it is. I never dreamed the world could be so...untouched. So formidable and dangerous, yet peaceful and pure.”

“There’s a lot of it out there, the world, I mean.” He pointed a gloved hand west. “About a thousand miles that way you’ll run into the most magnificent mountains you’d ever dream to see.”

“You mean the Rockies?” She stared where he pointed a moment.

“Yes. Europeans claimed they discovered them, as if something doesn’t exist until they taint it with their presence, but those mountains have probably been there longer than people have been on Earth. The Cree call them _as-sin-wati_. It translates to ‘when seen from across the prairies, they looked like a rocky mass’”.

“That’s so intriguing. I didn’t learn about them until I got north. I’ve heard stories from travelers in McClintock's about those mountains. A group came through and said they’d lost two men trying to cross ‘em.” Cora shook her head. “I’ll bet they’re something to see, though. I wonder if I’ll ever get to.”

“I hope you do, but it’s one hell of a trip.” Declan smiled. “Me, Sokanon, Samoset, and another friend made the journey several years ago, just to see them. Not cross them. Took my breath away.”

“Wow.” Cora stared enviously at him. “You’ve done so much, been so many places. You ever been to the southern colonies?”

He nodded. “Once. It’s nice down there, much more tamed. And, of course, there’s the slavery.”

“Yeah…” she sighed softly. “The slavery. Maybe one day it’ll end, and black folks can just be free. Free to do what they want with their own lives instead of existing to serve lazy, greedy-ass masters.”

Declan stepped in closer until their arms brushed. He smiled down at her. “It’ll end. You and me might be long gone when it happens, but it will end. With people like you fighting and resisting, there’s no way slavery will last forever.”

Her smile ignited the frosty day. “I hope so.”

Declan watched her so hard and with so much caring drawn over his features that Cora blushed and looked away. They’d gotten really close, yet still she shied from him, his tender advances. She decided that once they reached his Tribe, she would allow herself to press forward with their growing relationship. Cora found Declan to be kind, gentle, and relatable. He was easy on the eyes too, even with that scar, which half blinded him. She could see herself settling with him down the line, if such was the path she was meant to take. For now, being good friends more than sufficed.

They continued along the river.

Declan was receptive to her perception of him. She was warming up to him. Inwardly, he beamed. His smile flattened, and he stopped, gently grabbing her arm. Cora’s first instinct was to panic, but then he put a finger over his mouth to signal silence, and he nodded out ahead of them.

Cora followed his trained stare right to a rabbit sitting up the bank, its little cheeks working as it gnawed on something or other. Keeping his eye on the animal, Declan removed his slingshot and a weighted pellet. Cora watched in awe as she had several times in their travels while he readied the weapon. He drew his hand back, eye fixed on the target.

The woman didn’t move when he took one slow step forward, then another. And before the rabbit could hop away, Declan shot the pellet. The little creature flipped once and rested in the snow.

They went over, and he grabbed it, tying it to his pack. He grinned at her and waggled his eyebrows. “Dinner.”

Coralee’s giggles rang like bells; his facial expressions killed her sometimes.

Declan was very happy to hear her laughter. It was a sign that the world hadn’t broken her strong spirit.

◄☼►

Declan and Cora traveled south for three days, leaving an obvious trail; a blind man could follow it. Then, they swung out wide to the west for another day. He started dispersing their camps once more, hiding their tracks.

A week later, traveling northwest, they shifted from the thickets of forest and stared down into an open pocket with a large partially frozen lake. More shadowy woods and rolling hills rose beyond it. The sun was low in the sky, but there was still a bit of daylight left.

“We’re almost there,” Declan said.

“Your tribe?”

“No, we’re not even in Forest Cree lands yet. This is the Undisputed Territory. There’s a cabin on the other side of the lake, back in the trees. I use it occasionally when traveling between the village and Fort James. It’ll be dark by the time we reach it.”

“Well, let’s skedaddle!” Coralee exclaimed. “My feet ache, and I can’t wait to rest these barkin' dogs!”

Declan bellowed out laughter. He started down the low, snowy slope with Cora beside him.

◄☼►

The sun had lowered by the time they entered the cabin’s yard. A dark crimson slash marred the horizon in the west, the last vestiges of daylight blending from violet up into an endless black sky spattered with stars.

Cora and Declan spent a few moments admiring the celestial vision, before finishing their approach of the cozy single-story structure. The windows were dark, and a chimney rose from the roof. Fire logs were stacked around the side of the cabin. Declan grabbed up a few, then went to the door, pushed it in, and entered. He waited for Cora to get inside, then closed the door.

“Go ahead and put your bag down. I’ll get a fire going, then head out to hunt something for dinner.”

“Rabbit?”

“Yeah, probably.” He flashed a smile at her, lowering by the hearth. “Tomorrow, I’ll see about something different, a deer maybe.”

“Alright.”

While he tended to the fire, Coralee scanned the one-roomed interior. A wide window faced out towards the front of the cabin, and a second window faced the rear. In one corner was a washing area with a basin and large wooden tub on wheels. There was a table with chairs, a wood-burning stove on the same wall as the hearth, pots, pans, and a nice-sized bed, the stuffed mattress rolled up and sitting on the frame.

Just one bed.

Cora’s eyes shot to Declan’s back. She wondered how sleeping arrangements would go, knowing he’d let her have the bed to herself. But she wasn’t about to make him sleep on the floor if he didn’t want to. They _had_ been sleeping next to each other every night on the road.

The young woman shrugged inwardly. They’d cross that bridge when the time came. She spent a few more minutes inspecting, and found a stock of dried goods and some spices in a cupboard. Sacks of beans, grains, peas. Salt, peppercorns, bay leaves, cinnamon sticks.

“Marjoram…” she voiced softly, taking off her gloves to lift a bag, which she untied and sniffed. She squeaked a little sneeze and replaced the bag.

“You alright over there?” Declan stood, moving across the room for her. “Hope you’re not catching a cold.”

Coralee faced him. “No, just got a whiff of some spice. I might be able to whip up a decent stew with some of those beans.”

“I’m sure it’ll be tasty. Wild greens grow down closer to the lake. We’re gonna be here for a few days, so I’ll be sure to take you.”

“Mm. I could go for a nice batch of greens right now,” she said.

“Okay, I got the fire going. You get warmed up. I’ll be back soon. I won’t be far.”

“Be careful.” She always felt compelled to say that, though she knew he wasn’t a man who’d easily fall to any predator. She felt bad for anyone or anything that crossed his path with ill intentions.

Declan caressed her cheek, checked his slingshot, then left, shutting the door after him.

Coralee sighed and rubbed her hands together. It would take a little while before the hearth’s heat spread enough to render the interior of the cabin comfortable. Staying busy was the best thing to do, so after removing her windbreaker leathers, she spent a few minutes unrolling the mattress on the bed frame, then she settled by the hearth to get warm.

She stared at the dancing flames, mildly hypnotized. When the door flung open, she smiled and turned, but the expression quickly melted. Scared, Cora jumped to her feet, grabbed the broom leaned on the wall nearby, and backed away. The man glaring her direction _definitely_ wasn’t Declan.

Clad in a dark buckskin coat and traveling leathers, he was even larger than Declan, though not by much, hulking and filling the doorway. He had a full beard, deep brown eyes, mahogany skin, and thick, wavy raven hair that fell over his broad shoulders.

Cora swallowed the lump in her throat when he fully entered, shut the door, and leaned a very large and foreboding ax to the side of it. Her breathing accelerated. She swung the broom outward. “Stay back! Ya hear me! Stay away!”

The man lifted a brow and chuckled, his voice smooth and resonant when he retorted, “Or what, lady? You gonna _sweep_ me to death?”

Cold hands of silence closed around Cora, temporarily arresting her voice. She had slowly backed away to put the table between him and her, clutching the broom for dear life.

He progressed, taking a few steps for her. “Who are you and what are you doing in my cabin?”

Cora startled, stuttering and frazzled. “I-I-don’t...I…” She was speechless and terrified of the behemoth closing in on her. She’d gone through a lot to be free, and she wasn’t about to let him take what he wanted from her. _“STAY AWAY!”_

The man dashed forward, making her scramble around the table to keep distance between them. Her eyes shot to the door, her bag near it. She cursed herself for not having the gun Elizabeth gave her ready, as she had in other moments when Declan left her alone in camp. If she ran fast enough, though, she could get to the door and out.

Cora met the stranger’s intense gaze. Her eyes flipped to the door, then back to him.

His expression appeared humored. Amused. And a dare lingered in his eyes. It said, _Go on if you think you’re quick enough._

Gathering her nerve, she took him up on that dare. In one movement, Cora chucked the broom at him and bolted. But he was faster. Thick arms locked around her from behind, catching her mid-run long before she reached the door.

She screamed.

“Hey! Calm down!” he bellowed, turning her to face him, lowering his voice. “Calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Cora lashed out, nails raking his cheek. She followed with a swift kick to the shin. And she didn’t look like she was done fighting.

“Ow!” The huge man grimaced, then growled and hiked her over his shoulder, striding for the bed. He carefully placed her down, instantly draping his hot, hard body over her, capturing her wrists.

Tears flooded Cora’s eyes. She struggled but couldn’t move, couldn’t budge him, and now he was going to take from her what she’d kept even Master Cassidy from getting.

But he didn’t.

The stranger only watched her in calm silence, waiting for her to mellow out. Cora finally stopped struggling and found herself gazing up into his prominent, chiseled, handsome features. The man nodded, eyes locked on hers. “See? Told you I wouldn’t hurt you.”

The door crashed open, and both Cora and the man looked over to see Declan standing in the entrance. He had a rabbit in one hand and his long hunting blade ready in the other. The frontiersman had heard Cora’s scream and raced back to the cabin.

“Get off her, you asshole.”

The stranger grinned and removed himself from Cora. “Well, if it ain’t the Wolf.”

“If it ain’t the Bull.” Declan sheathed his knife and closed the door. He appeared extremely irritated. “Wanna tell me why you’re manhandling the package?”

Cora hurried from the bed to cower just behind Declan, who took her small hand a moment to reassure her.

The other man crossed arms over his chest. “_She’s_ the package? Why didn’t you just say that in the message you sent, brother? If I’da known, I wouldn’t have had to pin her to keep her from scratching my face off.”

“I needed it to be secret in case the message was intercepted.”

“Intercepted by who?”

“Slavecatchers, which is why I called on you. You have more experience with them,” Declan said. “She got off a plantation a few years ago, catchers caught her trail back in Montreal. Luckily, I saw one snatch her. I’m takin her—”

“—to the Tribe,” the handsome stranger finished.

“Yeah. She’ll be safe there. I’ll think of something so she can stay.”

“Mm.” The man nodded, then lowered his hulking frame onto a chair. His deep, sultry vision settled on Coralee.

She blinked at him and looked away for a moment.

He smiled at her shyness.

“Who are you?” Cora finally found her voice again. Declan had moved to drop the rabbit by the hearth, and she was still keeping her distance from the stranger.

“Name’s Makkonen Hightower. You?”

“Coralee Cassidy.” She regarded him curiously. “Why did you two just call each other animals? Is that some kind of code?”

Makkonen chuckled, but Declan answered before he could. “Our tribal names. Mine is Black Wolf. His is Iron Bull.”

“Iron Bull…” Her voice was small when she projected it towards Makkonen, eyes shooting to the weapon he left by the door. “And you...kill people with an ax?”

“Only if they try to kill me first.” He smiled and winked at her.

Despite how scared she’d been of him moments before, Cora felt a blush heating her neck and cheeks. Declan saw his lifelong friend flirting with the woman he’d come to care about dearly himself. He silently tended to cleaning the rabbit.

Cora moved to a chair. She felt bad seeing Makk run fingers over his upper cheek. “I’m sorry for attacking you.”

“Mm. I just hope it doesn’t get infected,” he joked. “Seriously, though, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Cora offered a soft smile. “It’s not your fault. It would’ve helped if Declan had at least told me about you.”

“Yeah, he’s cryptic like that,” Makkonen said.

“Tell me about it.” She playfully rolled eyes Declan’s way.

The Cree Irishman shrugged and smiled, finishing up the rabbit. He placed it on a spit in the hearth, then went to clean his hands.

Makkonen stood, went to the door, grabbed his traveling gear and gun from just outside, and set it near Cora’s and Declan’s things. Cora watched him move about. When he settled in his chair again, he held a sack of trail mix in one large hand. He slowly ate from it. Makkonen met her hazel eyes, set in a gorgeous face that was framed by a thick mane of tight, long tendrils. He smiled and held the bag out to her.

“Oh, no, thank you.”

The mountain man nodded and continued munching.

“So,” Cora started, “You’re familiar with slavecatchers?”

“Yes. My father was an escaped slave. Made his way to the far north. He and my mother fell in love, married, and he joined the Forest Cree.” Makkonen set the bag of nuts and berries to the table. “He died protecting the Tribe when I was a little boy.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, he was a good man. I don’t remember much, but I know he loved me and my mother more than anything. He loved the Tribe.”

Cora nodded slowly, her gaze roaming the attractive planes of his face. “I’m sure he did.”

“Going back to me and slavecatchers,” Makk said, “I help with slave liberation.”

That really got Coralee’s attention. She sat up straighter. “You free slaves?”

“Yes. I work with groups of liberators up and down the land to plan raids, free slaves, and get ‘em north.” Makk leaned back and crossed arms over his chest. “In the last six years, I’ve assisted with four raid campaigns, and when I’m not freeing people, I’m up here in the north helping Declan and his Black Wolf Company. Anything to rile up HBC operations.”

Declan had been standing by the window, looking out in the night. He turned, went to the table, and took a seat. “Makkonen and I grew up together in the Tribe. He’s like a brother.”

“And you’re the older one,” piped Makk.

“Only by a year.” Declan smirked.

“Still older than me.”

“Shut up.”

Cora chuckled at their banter.

◄☼►

The evening went on. When it was time to settle in, Makkonen went to a trunk pulled out some furs and blankets, and draped them on the bed. The cabin had warmed up enough so they didn’t have to wear their big coats. He pulled his off and draped it over a chair.

Cora silently watched him ready the mattress, standing close by. “I...I thought I would take the bed.”

Makkonen grinned at her. “You can sleep on it if you want...but so am I.”

“What?”

Declan had set up his sleeping place by the hearth. He also believed she’d take the bed. “Be a gentleman. Get some furs and hit the floor.”

“No. It’s my bed and I’m sleeping on it.” Makkonen turned eyes to Coralee. “We can share it. I mean, c’mon, we’re both adults, and it’s not like we’ll be naked or anything.”

Coralee blushed profusely.

Makkonen droned with chuckles. “Or you can curl up with Dec on the floor. Your choice.”

She looked to Declan, then to the bed, which would be infinitely more comfortable than sleeping on the floor. Roughing it in the wilderness left her body with a few muscle aches. She finally sighed.

“Fine. I...I’ll sleep on the bed.” Her pretty eyes narrowed. “You better stay on your side.”

Makkonen grinned. “I’m an honorable man.”

Declan fumed vaguely. He knew Makk was harmless, but he didn’t like the idea of Coralee sleeping next to anyone else but him. However, he wouldn’t make a big deal of it. There was an obvious snap in his voice when he addressed his tribe-brother. “You take the first watch.”

“Can do,” Makkonen replied. He grabbed a chair, his gun, and posted by the front window.

Coralee removed her boots and climbed into bed, settling under the furs. She lay on her side watching the mysterious, charming Mr. Hightower across the room. It wasn’t long before she slipped into slumber.


	8. Love Complications

Coralee emitted a faint sigh as she shifted into consciousness. She was warm and toasty, the chill of winter pushed aside by the pleasant, fragrant heat of…

She shook fully awake and realized she was snuggled against Makkonen.

He was stretched out on his back on top of the furs and blankets, one hand behind his head and a small book in the other, propped on a lumpy pillow. It was well into morning, the sky clear enough that rays of sunlight beamed through the front window.

“Good morning,” Makkonen droned, a smile spreading. “You obviously did _not_ stay on your side.”

Cora stared into his eyes, immediately beginning to simmer with a blush.

“And you snore.”

“Yeah, I’ve told her that,” said Declan, who sat at the table sharpening his blades and tomahawk.

“Oh, hogwash to you both!” Cora instantly snapped out of her bashful state, smirking thickly. She rolled away from Makkonen, out of bed, stretching.

The men chuckled.

Cora smoothed small hands over the braids she fashioned before bed to keep her hair tamed. She pulled her boots and coat on, then grabbed some wiping rags from her traveling bag. “I’m going to find some bushes.”

She stomped out the door.

“Watch out for bears!” called Makkonen after her.

Cora flew back through the doorway, large eyes on him across the room, pretty lips parted.

The man burst into laughter at the look on her face, the fear, her slim shoulders churning up and down with every frantic breath. Declan tried not to laugh but couldn’t hold back. He sat at the table rumbling lowly.

“Bears?” said Cora meekly.

“Oh, yeah,” Makk replied matter-of-factly. “And wolves and mountain cats. Snakes too, though they don’t come out much in weather this frigid. Then, there’s the most dangerous of ‘em all: moose. Boy, those sons of bitches are mean. They’ll attack anyone for no reason. Children, old people, nuns. _Anyone._"

Cora’s eyes widened further.

Neither Declan nor Makkonen could contain their mirth, both men trembling with laughter.

The mountain man’s chuckles tapered off, though his smile remained firmly plastered. He readied up, grabbed his ax, and moved out the door. “C’mon. I’ll stand guard while you find those bushes.”

◄☼►

It took Cora a few minutes to locate a good copse of foliage behind which to hide. She wanted to make sure it was taller than her bodyguard. Makkonen stood downhill of her, eyes trained out over the lake; he took keen note of the flock of geese resting along its shore.

Snow crunched beside him, and he turned to smile down at Coralee. “Better?”

“Much,” she said with a breathy sigh.

They started back for the cabin.

Makkonen adjusted the great ax over his shoulder. Usually, he wore the specially made replica of a Viking weapon latched to his back. He spared a look at the young beauty. “Seems like you slept well, _apaskwaniy._ I’m glad.”

Cora eyed him curiously. “What did you call me?”

He chuckled richly, a sound that Cora found very enjoyable. “It’s Cree. Means ‘little woman’.

“Hmpf. Maybe I’m normal-sized, and you’re just big. Did you ever consider that?”

Makk laughed some more. “Nah. You’re a little thing. That doesn’t make you any less of a fighter, though.” He rubbed the scratches on his face to emphasize.

Cora smirked lightly over her smile. “Oh, you’re healing just fine. I _did_ feel bad at first, but since you thought it was so funny to tease me about the wildlife lurking out here, I’m now thinking you got what you deserved.”

“Mm. Is that so?”

“Yes.” Cora turned her eyes up to him, and her breath caught in her throat. His gaze was sultry and hot, eyes like two burning brown embers. She almost couldn’t look away, eventually managing to face forward quickly.

She hastened her pace, crossed the yard, and entered the cabin.

Makkonen detected the spark of _something_ between them too, and he felt guilty for it. He’d known Declan since they were youngins’ playing in the mud, and that was long and well enough to know he was in love with Miss Cassidy. Makk _also_ noticed that she didn’t look at Declan the same way he looked at her. There was endearment in her eyes, but that was all. A deep, friendly affection. Though that didn’t mean she wasn’t well on her way to becoming fully romantic with his tribe-brother.

As he followed Coralee inside, Makk decided he wouldn’t intrude on their relationship, whatever it was. He’d stay back and let it manifest, if that’s what occurred. Declan was one of the most important people in his life, and he’d not impede on the man’s happiness. He lost a lot with the death of his wife and son, had fallen into a very dark place. If Coralee was his bright guiding light now, Makkonen wouldn’t stand in the way. At least he’d try not to.

Even though he felt inexplicably drawn to the southern beauty.

◄☼►

Declan meant to keep his promise of bringing something other than rabbit to the dinner table. After ensuring things were secured, he left Coralee with Makkonen and trekked into the woods to hunt.

It was a little past noon now.

Makkonen chopped wood out back to keep the log stock up. Coralee stood over a kettle of gently bubbling contents. Last night before bed, she set some of the beans to soak. That was the right way to prepare them for a soup or stew, since it softened them. Doing otherwise would leave the beans crunchy. She learned this early in the kitchens of Sunset Fields Plantation.

After tasting the soup, mostly satisfied with the flavor but thinking it could use more vegetables, Coralee moved it more forward of the flames so it maintained a slower cook, with her stirring occasionally. She whipped up a workable batter for some pan bread and poured it into a skillet, leaving it deep in the hearth. It would take about an hour and a half to finish.

While the young woman washed her hands in the basin, Makkonen walked through the door carrying a stack of logs, which he placed to the side of the hearth. A smile spread across his face as he pulled his coat off and draped it over a chair, then sat.

“Smells good in here.”

Cora returned his smile, drying her hands. “You have a nice store of dry stuff and spices to work with. Let’s hope it tastes as good as it smells.”

“I’ll remain optimistic.” The deep tones of his voice poured forth. His eyes followed her movements until she sat across the table from him.

Coralee clasped her hands in her lap and twiddled her fingers, eyes averted so she didn’t look directly at Makkonen.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Why are you so shy? You act like I’m gonna bite you.”

Her eyes zipped to him. “I’m not shy.”

Makk churned a short chuckle. “You most definitely are, and ain’t nothin’ wrong with that, _apaskwaniy_.”

Cora supposed he was right. She tended to shrink when she wasn’t familiar with a situation or person. Lately, she’d been more demure than usual, given Declan’s subtle advances, his obvious romantic interest in her. And now there was Makkonen, a man she’d known a fraction of the time, yet felt so compelled to be near.

Makk pushed from the table, went to his traveling bag, pulled something out, then sat again. He placed a deck on the table. “You play cards?”

“Oh, well...not really. The only game I know how to play is Noddy.” Enid taught her. Sadness temporarily flashed over Coralee’s features. She really hoped to see all her Montreal friends again.

“Okay, then. Noddy it is.” Makk retrieved a charcoal writing stick and a piece of paper from his bag as well to keep score. He gestured at the deck. “You shuffle.”

Cora giggled softly. She liked his easy-going nature. It worked to iron out her awkward mousiness. She took the deck in her slender hands and proceeded to shuffle it. The cards slipped once or twice, and she had to realign them. Cora’s hazel eyes lifted to see him watching her, on the brink of laughter.

“What!” She wailed, blushing over her smile. “I never said I was any _good_ at shuffling.”

“Clearly not your strong suit,” he chimed playfully. “Nah. You’re doing fine.”

She dealt and they commenced a game.

Cora studied her cards, making a play when her turn came. She cleared her throat. “What’s your tribe like?”

Makkonen sat back and studied the lovely woman. “Well, it’s nice and quiet. It’s located back in the forest on a plateau against some rock faces, which offers protection against predators and invaders.”

“Are there a lot of people there?”

He shrugged thoughtfully, setting down a few cards. “There’s a good amount. I’d say over a hundred currently. People come and go, families moving around between Forest Cree and River Dweller. And there are some who just want to be near Fort James and Montreal. The population stays pretty regular though.”

The dimples in Coralee’s cheeks bloomed when she smiled. “With that many people, the village has to be pretty big.”

“It is,” Makk said, nodding. “There are plenty of _tipi_ and _waskahikan_, space for everyone and the horses.”

Cora listened intently. She knew what _tipi_ were, but the other word… “Um...what is a _was...ah...kan?_”

The rugged mountain man chuckled. “_Waskahikan_. Buildings. Aside from homes, there are structures used for other things, like storage, bathing, the injured or sick, and the council chamber.”

“I see.” She waited for him to finish his move, then she swiped some cards from her hand and set them down. Her voice lowered respectfully when she asked, “What about your mother? Is she still alive?”

“Yes.” Makkonen smiled to think of her, the strongest woman he knew. “She’s the _okimaw_ of our tribe.”

“_Okimaw_?”

“The leader. She heads the Council, had the position for fifteen years now.”

“So, she’s the queen of your tribe?” Coralee inquired.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“Wouldn’t that make you the prince then?” Her eyes gleamed with a smile.

“Well, you could look at it like that, though I don’t see myself as better than any other member of the tribe. They’re my people, and it’s my job to protect them. That’s what a respectable prince would do, right?” Makkonen chuckled.

“Yes, he would…” Cora stared at him. She didn’t understand how a man she’d known for such a short amount of time could be so intriguing...or why the thought, sight, and very _smell_ of him made her stomach flip warm, anticipatory cartwheels.

Makk really wanted to stick to his plan of noninterference, of standing back to let the relationship between his tribe-brother and Coralee nurture itself and grow, but he was experiencing the same anxiousness. Her presence invoked a keen sense of familiarity, as if he’d known her for much longer than a day. He’d crossed paths with beautiful women before, some of which he’d bedded, but it was more than looks with Coralee. Was it accurate to say she excited his loins? Yes. She also made him feel...whole.

Complete.

And he’d felt that way since the moment he saw her, staring down into those dazzling hazel pools as he pinned her so she wouldn’t attack him.

The cabin’s door swung open, and Declan entered.

Cora and Makk broke their locked eyes, both discombobulated by the feelings forming between them.

The mountain man turned to the frontiersman and grinned. “Took you long enough. You get anything?”

Declan churned a thin smirk and nodded over his shoulder to the dead deer in the yard. “Get to butchering.”

Makkonen rolled his eyes, turned to Cora, and set his cards facedown. “We’ll continue this later. Don’t be peeking at my hand.”

Coralee smiled gently. “I’m no cheater.”

“Uh-huh.” Makkonen left the table, grabbed up his knife, and went to tend to the carcass.

Declan started to peel off his outdoor layers. Cora quickly rose and went to assist, taking his coat, hanging it over a chair.

“Well, you said you’d find something other than rabbit, and you certainly did.” Cora smiled up at him. “How far out did you go? You were gone for a while.”

Declan reciprocated her smile. “A few miles. Can usually find deer closer to the lake, though.”

She groaned. “And you had to carry it all the way back.”

He chuckled. “I don’t mind. Somebody’s gotta hunt for you until you master the slingshot.”

“I probably wouldn’t be any good with it.” Coralee giggled.

“You could be with practice. Wanna start tomorrow?”

Her hazel eyes narrowed at him. “Really?”

“Really. We’ll start after breakfast.”

“Well...okay!” Cora beamed. She thought over something a moment. “Your shoulders must be tired. Want me to give you a massage?”

He stretched his neck, head tilting side to side. “That sounds nice, but you don’t have to.”

“No. I _want_ to, Declan. You’ve done so much for me, kept me safe and put food in my belly. A massage really is the least I can do. Go on, sit.” Small hands pushed at his back.

He shook his head, smiling. “Okay then.”

Once he was seated, Coralee moved up behind him. She buried her hands into the fall of his hair and began kneading the muscles bunched at the nape of his neck. As she already knew, he was very solid and warm through his shirt. Declan sighed and groaned.

Cora ceased, her eyes widening. “Is that too rough?”

“Mm. Not at all. Do your worst.”

She laughed and commenced.

Declan reveled in the massage silently for a minute, then he opened his eyes. There was a bit of concern stitched on his face, and he wondered if it was even warranted. However, he couldn’t dismiss the feeling that he’d interrupted something when he entered the cabin to see Cora and Makk intensely watching each other.

“I hope Makkonen was decent in my absence,” he said.

Cora chuckled. “He was. I somehow think you wouldn’t have left me with him if you didn’t trust him to behave.”

“Yes, I do trust him. He’s a good man.”

“I sensed that not long after meeting him,” Cora said, leaning in to put more pressure on his tight muscles.

"You two talk about anything interesting?"

“He told me about your tribe’s village. It sounds very nice. He also revealed that his mother is the leader of the Council.”

“Mm.” Declan nodded. “They’re the ones we’ll have to appeal to so you can stay. Our laws are pretty set, but there’s gotta be something we can do to convince them. You’re not the only person to flee into our territory for asylum. Every case is different. We just have to get them to see that you deserve to be there as much as anyone.”

Cora shifted her hands to one of his rigid shoulders, kneading intently. “I was a slave, so cooking and cleaning and doing chores ain’t nothin’ to me. I can pull my own weight, earn my keep.”

A tender smile stitched over Declan’s face. He pivoted right so he could look upon her with his good eye. “There’s no doubt about that, Coralee. You definitely contribute your share. And that’s what we should focus on when appealing to the Council, letting them know you offer a lot to the tribe in that sense.”

She took a breath. “I really hope it works, and they let me stay.”

“Me too. Either way, I’ll figure something out.”

“I know you will. You always do,” Cora replied softly, feeling herself grow warmer under his tender gaze.

Declan seized the moment and gripped one of her hands, gently squeezing it.

As usual, Cora shied away, but not before she hugged slender arms around his shoulders and kissed his temple. “I’m really lucky to have a friend like you, Declan. Let me know whenever you want a massage, hm?”

She moved off to the hearth to stir the bean soup.

Declan wasn’t sure how to interpret what just happened. She’d given him a kiss, while simultaneously maintaining the platonic boundaries of their relationship. She was still reluctant to press forward with him. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. He kept the same shield around himself for the longest time after the death of his family, his seeping hatred of Benton having been his only focus since. Declan hadn’t even let Grace as close to him as he had Coralee. The only thing he could do was give her time.

One day, hopefully, she’d openly return the affection he saw lingering just below the surface. For now, all he could do was wait.

◄☼►

The day passed on. Declan disappeared outside to assist with the deer meat preservation, while Coralee took a bath and washed her hair. The men wrapped up salted bundles of the meat and buried them in snow drifts behind the cabin. They waited until Cora called out, signaling they were okay to come back inside.

Makkonen roasted some of the deer in the hearth, applying some crushed rosemary and salt for flavor. The sun was on its way to setting when the three of them started a dinner of meat, bean soup, and skillet bread.

“Mm,” Makk rumbled contently. “This soup is great. How’d you get it to thicken like this?”

Cora grinned around a mouthful of bread. She chewed and swallowed. “The trick is to crush some of the beans up in the pot. Makes it nice and hearty.”

The mountain man nodded. “It’s goddamn delicious.”

“I agree,” said Declan, also happily tearing into dinner.

She chuckled a bit. “I think it’s been a while since you two had a decent meal then. If you think this is good, you would’a _loved_ what I was cooking back at Miss Elizabeth’s.”

“No doubt.” Declan droned, smiling across the table at the woman who currently held his heart in her little hands.

The three of them laughed and talked through dinner.

When it was time to settle in, Makkonen decided to give the bed to Declan and Coralee, while he set his bedroll before the fireplace.

Declan took the first watch that night and posted himself near the window.

Coralee laid on her side in bed, nestled in furs and blankets. She watched Makkonen stretched out before the hearth, surprised by the thoughts assailing her mind. She wanted to be beside him, draped in his comfortable warmth the way she woke up that morning.

But then there was Declan. She faced one hell of a dilemma.

She tossed and turned for a while, before sleep finally settled in.

◄☼►

Breakfast consisted of dinner’s leftovers. Afterwards, Declan and Cora donned their outdoors attire, and he took her around the side of the cabin from some slingshot training. There was a beam, from which metal plates of different sizes hung. Behind the beam was a wide wooden backboard to keep pellets from flying into the trees, easily retrievable.

“Okay, here you go.” Declan handed the slingshot over.

Coralee examined the weapon. Simple in design yet deadly if wielded correctly. Her eyes turned over to Declan, who offered an encouraging smile.

“Go on,” he said. “You know how to ready it.”

“Oh, okay…” The young woman lifted it, pivoting her body with her right foot slightly behind. She’d seen him take the same stance several times.

“Good.” Declan removed a few weighted pellets from the small bag on his side, placing one into her palm. “Now set the pellet into the pocket.”

Cora did as he said, and the little ball slipped free into the snow. She plucked it up and readied it again, keeping a tighter hold. She looked to Declan, who was watching her patiently.

“Now,” he said, “since you’re right-handed, extend your left arm out. Carefully. Bend it a bit so you can control your aim. Good. Go on and pull back on the pocket with your right hand, and keep your fingers pinched tight around that pellet. Don’t want to release yet.”

She did as he instructed, feeling a bit more confident.

“Very good, Coralee. Now, raise the weapon and center your vision between the prongs. Whatever’s down sight is the target. Aim at one of the plates and pull your right hand back as much as you can. Breathe. When you’re ready, let ‘er go.”

In and out. In. Out.

Cora controlled her breaths. They had to be in sync with when she fired. The young woman’s eyes narrowed, focusing down the sight. She released the pellet, and it plinked off the backboard.

“Damn.” Cora smirked.

Declan grinned. “That was good. You hit the board, and from the sound of it, you had good power behind your drawback.”

She sighed and smiled.

“Don’t shoot your eye out,” chimed Makkonen with a grin as he passed behind them for the back of the cabin. He wanted to cut more wood for their stock.

“How about I shoot you in the bottom,” Cora retorted.

The handsome mountain man could be heard chuckling around the house.

Coralee shook her head, holding to her deep smile.

◄☼►

For almost an hour more Cora practiced with Declan there to train her. She managed to hit the targets a few times. Makkonen finished chopping wood half an hour ago and had gone back inside.

_PING!_

“Yes!” Coralee cheered. “Another one!”

“You’ll be a master soon. We’ll have to send you off huntin’ next time.” Declan chuckled softly.

She giggled crisply, handing the slingshot over to him. “Maybe. I think it’s time for a little break.”

Her eyes squinted mischievously, and she backed away a few steps, then lowered and took up some snow, forming a ball in her gloved grip.

Declan watched her carefully as he stowed the weapon on his belt. He saw the playful glint in her eyes. “What do you have planned, woman?”

Coralee couldn’t help her widening smile, her straight white teeth flashing. She tossed the snowball, and it exploded against his chest.

His brow lifted, eyes jotting down to the snow on his coat, then back up to her. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.”

Coralee squealed with laughter as she watched him lower and make a ball. He tossed it, and she spun, catching it in the side. They went back and forth with their snowball fight, content to live in the moment. Times like those were needed to balance out the darker instances.

Cora ran towards the front of the house and took cover, peeking to see Declan watching from his post around the back side. She tossed a snowball, then dodged when he sent one at her. She gathered up another and checked again. He was nowhere to be seen. Cora perked, figuring he might try to come around the house to surprise her.

Very carefully she crept across the front of the cabin, pressed to the wall. When she got to the window, she did a double take, her heart fluttering. And she couldn’t look away.

Through a break in the curtains was Makkonen standing by the wash basin, bare from the waist up. He wiped a towel over his toned, muscular, solid body. Coralee dropped the snowball she clutched and leaned to see him better. His dark skin was marked by a few battle scars. A layer of hair brushed his broad chest, creeping provocatively over the firm ridges of his stomach, happy trailing down into his trousers.

The beautiful man braced to the sides of the basin and dunked his head in, large hands scrubbing his hair. Cora could’ve stood there and watched him all day, but she already felt decadent having observed him for as long as she had.

She sucked in a breath and spun from the window…

Only to nearly bump into Declan, making her lurch.

“I...we...should get back to practicing.” Embarrassed, she hurried off around the side of the house.

Declan had been watching her for several seconds at the window. After she hastily shifted off. He stepped forward to see what had drawn her attention so raptly. Through the slit in the curtains, he saw a half-naked Makkonen furiously toweling his hair, then drying his chest and arms. While the sight of the mountain man had clearly excited Coralee, it made Declan’s stomach drop and curdle.

It was then that he realized why she seemed so coy around Makkonen. She was attracted to him. That didn’t surprise Declan. Since they were younger, most of the females Makkonen met tended to gravitate towards him. It was safe to say that once they reached the age when they began to partake in carnal activities, there was never a shortage of companionship for his tribe-brother.

Declan stepped away from the window and started back around the house to train Cora some more. He was determined to have her for his own. While she was obviously attracted to Makkonen, she was attracted to Declan too. The frontiersman saw and sensed it. He’d just have to apply himself to make her abandon any desire she had for Makkonen.

◄☼►

After dinner, the three of them sat at the table talking and playing Noddy by the glow of lanterns. A perfect blaze burned in the hearth.

Declan put some cards down, eyeing Makkonen across the table. “How’s Piwan doing?”

Makk continued analyzing his cards, issuing a casual shrug. “I imagine she’s fine. I mean, I just saw her a couple of weeks ago up at the village, and she looked well.”

“Who’s Piwan?” asked Cora, hazel vision drifting between both men.

“A woman back home,” Makk said. “The three of us grew up together.”

A faint smile eased over Declan’s rugged features. “She’s been in love with you for years now. You two should go on and get married already, pop some babies out.” He chuckled, very satisfied at the disappointed look on Cora’s face, though he did experience the thinnest shred of guilt.

Makk snorted, tossing down some cards. “Why would you say that? She’s like a _sister_. To both of us. I highly doubt we’ll get hitched, considering I don’t feel that way for her.”

“You say that, but I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Makkonen shook his head and rumbled with laughter. “Must be something wrong with your eyes. Oh, wait. You only have one. That must be the problem.”

Declan didn’t let up, gaze flashing comically at his tribe-brother. “You shouldn’t run from your feelings, Makk. You only have one life. Better to live it than let it pass you by.”

Both men stared at one another silently, while Cora’s eyes swung between them. She felt dismayed to learn Makkonen had a woman back home, though according to him, they were only friends.

Makkonen spared a glance to Cora, then looked at Declan again; he was on to his half-Irish friend’s strategy. And he wouldn’t retaliate. Declan was making it clear that he intended to pursue Coralee to the fullest, and Makkonen could respect that. “Well, I think I’ve had all the Noddy I can take for the night. Gonna get some shuteye before watch.”

He tossed the remainder of his cards to the table, then stretched out on the bed with his hands behind his head.

Satisfied with that outcome, Declan readied his bedroll before the hearth. He sat there watching the flames for a moment, before Cora lowered beside him. They exchanged smiles, then she leaned her head to his shoulder, watching the lapping, dancing fire and embers with him.

Makkonen longingly observed them, envious. Little did he know that he was still in the center of Cora’s thoughts. Talk of the woman Piwan drew up doubt at first, making her feel foolish for even entertaining romantic notions of Makk, but she wasn’t ready to abandon her pursuit of the mysterious man. He had fascinated her far too much in the short time that she’d known him, and something deep in her core had sparked to life, further drawing her to him.

Still, she was unwilling to hurt Declan. And therein was the conundrum—how to possibly further pursue one man, while rejecting another as delicately as possible. Declan couldn’t see the worry in her eyes, blanketing her face. She silently cursed herself. Maybe she should just give in to Declan. He obviously loved her, and he’d been protecting and caring for her since they met. She _knew_ him, cared very deeply for him. She’d only just met Makkonen...yet felt like she’d known him longer than Declan.

Goddamn conundrum.

She was still fiddling over things in her mind when she settled in bed, Declan rested on his furs, and Makkonen took up watch by the window.

◄☼►

Angus decided that he and his gang would hide their slavecatcher badges. As part of northern law, catchers were required to wear them openly to announce who they were. But since they were so far north now, in the wildest reaches of the new world, Angus figured there wasn’t much law out there anyway. Besides, people regarded him differently when they didn’t know his profession.

It only took two days after Declan fled Fort James with Coralee to get information about the frontiersman’s possible whereabouts. Lingering around the Hudson Bay Company on the pier and the garrison brought some interesting facts to light. Declan Harp was a sworn enemy of the Crown and wanted for acts of treason, murder, and theft. HBC soldiers were very happy to reveal that the wild half-breed used the Undisputed Territory to hide, since they were mostly untamed and inaccessible for large armies.

Then there was also the Forest Cree territory, even further into the unforgiving frontier. Only a select few dared to go that far north. The hills, forest, and terrain made it impossible for the HBC to march on and invade. Any men sent up would certainly be bottlenecked by the rocky canyons and cliffs, then cut down. But Angus didn’t care about a bunch of uncivilized red bastards. He cared about Harp. So, one way or another, he was going up there.

Of course, he’d have to be smart about it.

A day after gaining information about the Forest Cree and Undisputed Territories, he found a tracker who was willing to take him and his men out there, under the impression that they only wanted to see the frontier and maybe do a little hunting.

Now, the tracker led Angus and his boys west for the Undisputed Territory.


	9. Blood Taints Even the Most Perfect of Days

For a week, Angus, Colm, Gunter, and Shane traveled west under the guiding expertise of Jean-Philipe Ramsay. The tracker had lived in the north for thirty years and traveled all through the Canadian area. They crossed into the Undisputed Territory a day ago.

The tracker sat patiently on his bedroll around the campfire eating on caribou jerky, while his customers awoke and readied themselves to move onward. He was familiar with the type, those that came from the south looking for a frontier adventure. During his brief back in Fort James, Jean-Philipe explained that he was not liable for any deaths or injuries they sustained, as the frontier was a dangerous place. He also required to be paid in advance.

Once, some time ago, he led a group of uppity Englishmen out in the wild because they wanted to track and possibly kill a grizzly. Jean-Philipe warned them but couldn’t pass up the money they offered. So, he took them. They ended up crossing paths with a grizzly, and the gentlemen who was to pay got mauled and dragged off by the creature. Jean-Philipe didn’t get all his money. The remaining men blamed him for the death of their friend and paid him a measly fraction of what was promised.

From that moment on, the tracker made customers pay him upfront.

Angus had no issues with that. He’d give over whatever money he had to find that half-red bastard Harp and the runaway darkie. The slavecatcher moved to the edge of camp and pissed, then returned to the fire. “C’mon, boys. Shane, Gunter. Get your asses up. Time to move.”

“Monsieur Beecher,” said Jean-Philipe, “perhaps you and your company would like to see Lake Savant? It is a couple of hours northwest. It is very picturesque, and the hunting is pretty nice.”

Angus nodded as he packed the rest of his gear. “Sounds good, Mr. Ramsay.”

Colm moved in close to Angus, speaking low. “How long do we need to be out here, boss?”

“For as long as I say.”

Colm sighed, sparing a look to see Jean-Philipe tending to his own gear. “We gone freeze out here. Harp’s probably long south by now.”

“Stop whining,” Angus hissed, a warm cloud of exhaled breath tumbling past his lips. “He’s still up here. I know it. _I feel it_. Makes no sense for him to take her back south. You wanna go, then _go_. Good luck making it back to Fort James alive.”

Colm watched Angus turn away and kick dirt over the fire. He smirked heavily, then went to shove things into his traveling bag. As much as he wanted nothing more than to return to the deep south and let that negro girl and the indian be, Colm decided to continue onward with his boss. He was really beginning to think following Angus Beecher on the chase for Coralee was one of the worst ideas he’d ever had.

◄☼►

Sometime late in the morning, they crested a hill and reached the thinning edges of the forest. When they broke from the trees, they beheld the pristine beauty of Savant Lake. It was mostly frozen, with the thinnest ice out towards the center.

Angus quirked a brow and nodded. “Well, I dare say that is a pretty sight, Mr. Ramsay. No doubt there. I can already see some little critters in the area. Let’s trap up something for lunch, hm?”

“Hey, Angus,” called Gunter. “You see that over there?”

Angus turned to the man, who squinted and pointed at something. He followed Gunter’s line of vision. They all did.

“Looks like smoke coming up from them trees,” Colm said.

Jean-Philipe pulled out his looking glass and examined. He nodded. “Yes. It’s smoke,” he sounded apprehensive.

Angus’s blood pumped harder through his veins. Excitement. He grabbed Jean-Philipe’s glass and observed. It could’ve been anyone out there. But, oh, how wonderful it would be if Declan Harp was on the other side of that fire. “Alright, boys. We’re gonna check it out.”

“Monsieur Beecher, perhaps that is not a good idea.”

“And why’s that, Jean-Philipe?”

“We are in open territory, and while I am on good terms with most of the native factions in the region, there are still a lot of...shall we say, renegades in the wild. I think it would be best to avoid contact with whoever is across that lake.”

Angus cocked his head and spat sideways into the snow. He fully faced Jean-Philipe. “I appreciate your concern, but we all got guns, right? Quite capable of ending anyone before they can end us. I paid you good and well to bring us out here, Mr. Ramsay, and we’re goin’ for that smoke. If I find what I’m lookin’ for, I might even toss you something extra.”

The slavecatcher chuckled and smacked him on the shoulder.

Jean-Philipe frowned slightly. “What are you looking for?”

“A very special animal. Now, let’s move.”

Angus started down the incline, kicking up snow as he went. Colm, Shane, and Gunter followed.

Jean-Philipe didn’t agree, but he took up the rear. Those unfamiliar with the north _always_ thought they knew best. That’s when it behooved him to stand back and watch. At least if things went to shit, he’d already been paid.

◄☼►

After breakfast, Makkonen grabbed his bow and disappeared into the woods to hunt small game. Anything to busy his mind with something other than Coralee, his _apaskwaniy_. Well, he wished she was his.

Declan took Cora down to the lake shore for the second day in a row to pick wild greens. The woman squatted a short distance away driving a spade into the snow, shoveling it aside. She grinned when she saw the familiar top of the plant, the leaves wide and still vibrant in color thanks to the ice. She yanked and tugged, planting her feet. The frozen earth released, and the roots gave way. Cora held it up before her eyes, smiling, then she put it in her bucket.

◄☼►

Angus and the others used the cover of the tree line to move around the lake, zeroing on the position of the smoke. The closer they got, the more Angus became convinced it was from no campfire but a chimney hearth; the smoke column was too condensed and thick.

And then…

“Well, well.” Angus mused with a whisper, lifting his hands to stop the others. “What do we have here?”

Jean-Philipe, Gunter, Shane, and Colm saw the two figures down around the curve of the shore too. They weren’t visible until the group got past the boulder clusters.

“Jean-Philipe, lemme get that lookin’ glass,” Angus said lowly.

The tracker handed it over.

Angus peered through the lens, his grin spreading slow as molasses. “There’s my girl. Never doubt my instincts, Colm. I told you he ain’t take her south.”

He saw Coralee squatting and digging at the snow, pulling up greens.

Angus moved the sight a bit to the left and was all but chuckling now. “And _you_ must be Declan Harp.”

Jean-Philipe’s eyes snapped to Angus. “_Declan Harp?_” He snatched the glass for a look, groaning.

Gunter snatched the glass from him, features crinkled with a dire frown. He put the tube to his eye, breathing hard. “Yeah, that’s the sumbitch!”

Angus swiped the looking glass to observe a little more. “Hold your voices down.”

“What business do you have with Declan Harp?” the French tracker questioned. He appeared alarmed.

Angus lowered the glass and turned to him. “He’s what I’m huntin’.”

“_Sérieusement!”_ _Seriously!_ “You must be joking!”

“I assure you, I am not. I mean to end him right here, right now.”

Jean-Philipe shook his head furiously. “No. _No, no, no._ I will have no part in this. I have no bad blood with that man, and I have heard how he deals with enemies. Our business venture is over, Monsieur Beecher.”

“Hm.” Angus nodded thoughtfully, then quickly drew his Flintlock pistol and pointed it at the trapper. “I can understand that. However, I don’t need you fuckin’ up my plans. Shane take this feller’s rifle.”

Shane did as his boss commanded

Jean-Philipe sighed and held his hands up.

“Now, here’s what’s gonna happen,” Angus started.

◄☼►

“How you doin’ over there?” Cora called to Declan.

“Probably not as good as you,” he replied, smiling her way.

“My bucket’s almost full!”

“Not surprised.”

Coralee giggled and ran over to where he rested on his haunches cutting through the snow with his own spade. He had gathered a couple of plants. “You’re the one who showed me how to do this. How is it you don’t have more in your bucket?”

“You have a better nose for sniffing out greens, I suppose.” He chuckled and stood, towering over her.

“Yes, that must be it.”

The tenderness that lingered between them intensified as they watched each other. Coralee didn’t retract from Declan when he closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her. Maybe a kiss would help to lay her doubts aside regarding their relationship.

She took a breath, shivering nervously as he drew her against him, then caressed along her cheek. Coralee tilted her face up, his breath pushing warmly to her skin, his mouth getting closer.

And closer…

◄☼►

The plan was simple. Stick to the tree line and get as close as possible to the savage and the girl. Angus wanted to kill him with his bare hands. He was big, but Angus wasn’t a small man either. He’d taken down negro bucks larger than that half-red bastard.

So, with Jean-Philipe at gunpoint, Angus led Gunter and Colm through the shadows of the foliage. Shane had been sent off to a different vantage point.

Everything was going according to plan until Gunter snapped a thick stick under his boot.

A resting flock of geese in the shrubbery close by startled and flapped off into the sky, honking.

“_Goddammit, Gunter!”_ Angus growled lowly.

◄☼►

And closer…

Right before Declan’s mouth would’ve collided with Cora’s, geese burst from the tree line downshore. A perfectly timed interruption that instantly put Declan on alert. Cora felt his body tense beneath the layers of leather and fur. She stared up at him as he trained his diminished but keen vision on the place where the geese were, remaining close when his solid arms released her.

“Declan…” she started softly.

“Shhh,” he prompted, attention locked on a location in the trees about a hundred and fifty meters down shore. “When I tell you to, run back up to the cabin.”

Cora’s heart sank. She should’ve known better than to expect things to be good for too long. The woman looked in the same direction as Declan, trying to spot something.

◄☼►

Angus was reluctant to move, hoping the encroaching shadows of the trunks was enough to obscure them from Harp’s vision. He didn’t dare to even take a breath.

◄☼►

Declan glimpsed a couple of dark figures just inside the tree line. He immediately pulled free his tomahawk and long knife. “Go!”

Adrenaline rammed Coralee in the chest, infusing her with energy. Energy powered by fear. She took off behind him and melded into the trees.

◄☼►

“_Fuck!_” Angus growled. “He sees us. Move in!”

The slavecatcher lost all interest in Jean-Philipe. Harp knew they were there now. The French trapper ducked aside, falling back while Angus and his boys broke into a jog, progressing.

Sneering, Gunter stopped, raised his rifle, and got Declan in his sights.

Angus nudged the weapon and staggered his aim just he fired. “_The fuck are you doin’!_ I said I’mma kill that sumbitch with my bare hands!”

Gunter growled. He wanted the half-breed dead for the beating he gave him.

◄☼►

Makkonen had his eye aimed down a tightly drawn arrow, prepared to take out a fat rabbit. He could already taste the stew Coralee would create with it.

A single gunshot cracked the settling silence, echoing through the forest.

The mountain man lowered his bow, then secured it and replaced the arrow to his quiver. His fiery brown eyes scanned, fixing on the direction of the lake shore. Declan wasn’t one to use guns unnecessarily, mainly for hunting large game. But he wasn’t hunting right now. He was down on the snowy beach with Cora picking greens.

An ill sensation washed over him.

Makkonen cut back for the lake, sprinting through the trees. All he could think about was Coralee.

◄☼►

When the gunshot blast shattered the day, Declan ducked behind a trunk. He watched as three men he recognized exited the tree line and openly started for his position. Beecher and two of his boys, one of which Declan had beat the shit out of. The fourth was nowhere to be seen.

The frontiersman glowered. He’d left his gun up at the cabin, but wished he had it then.

“Why don’t you come on outta there!” called Angus. “We ain’t gone shoot ya! See!”

The slavecatcher set his Flintlock to the ground, then gestured for Colm and Gunter to do the same. They complied, though Gunter lowered his rifle very hesitantly.

“You caused me a lot of trouble and lost me a lotta time, Declan Harp,” Angus mused. “Killed one of m’boys. Took off with my bounty.”

“I will _not_ let you take Coralee.” Declan continued sizing them up, peering cautiously around the tree. They’d all disarmed of their firearms.

“Oh, she’s goin’ back. Right on back to the plantation. You can bet on that. Only way to save her is to come out here and fight me. Hand-to-hand. You beat me, my boys have orders to let you be, and you can take her with you.”

“So, it’s a fight you want,” called Declan. The opportunity to kill one of the most dangerous men in the north in a battle of strength and guile. The thought made Declan’s lips peel back from his teeth in a wild, humorless grin. Other men had tested him in such a way, and they’d obviously failed. He stepped into the open to face them. “It’s a fight you’ll get.”

“Good,” Angus smiled, nodding as he pulled his blades free. “That’s the spirit.”

He and Declan circled, sizing each other up. Angus attacked first, dashing forward, swiping his blade. Declan dodged and countered, kicking out to catch his opponent in the midsection.

Angus staggered, recovered, and laughed. “Wooo, boy! You hit hard. Good.”

Declan braced for another attack, Angus throwing it on strong, unrelenting with his arcs and swipes. He swung a fist and caught Declan in the jaw. The frontiersman spun with the blow, instantly recovering. “You hit like a bitch.”

He grinned at the anger that materialized over Angus’s features.

The slavecatcher roared, and they continued the fight, punches thrown and taken. Angus strategically attempted to use Declan’s left blind spot against him, but it didn’t work as well as Angus hoped. Over the years, his opponent had adapted to the loss of that eye.

Declan kicked out and caught Angus’s right hand, disarming him of that knife. He growled at his enemy. “_Come at me!_”

◄☼►

Jean-Philipe watched the whole scene safely from the trees down shore. He’d never seen Declan Harp in person, and he was certainly as imposing as the stories made him to be. He hoped the large man bested Angus and put him in a shallow grave.

The trapper’s eyes enlarged when a very cold and sharp blade hugged against his jugular, followed by heat from the person who’d sneaked up behind him.

“Who are you?” Makkonen demanded, his voice low and deep.

“I-I’m no one. A simple trapper,” answered Jean-Philipe shakily. “Those men said they needed a guide. I only trekked them out here for some hunting and sightseeing. I had no idea they were looking for Declan Harp.”

Makk listened as the man spilled his story. He saw Declan down the lakeshore fighting one man hand-to-hand, while two others stood by. His heart jumped. “Where’s Coralee?”

“Coralee?”

“_The woman!_”

“Ah, yes, yes. Sh-she ran off up the hill that way.” Jean-Philipe swallowed nervously, pointing in the direction. “If you mean to help her, you should go now. Monsieur Beecher sent one of his men towards the smoke, which I assume is coming from a house or cabin. Your place, perhaps?”

Makkonen’s eyes swung to Declan and the fight. His tribe-brother could best anyone in hand-to-hand combat. He could take care of himself. Coralee, however, could not. The mountain man stepped back, and his blade dropped from Jean-Philipe’s throat, easing the trapper’s nerves.

He turned to see the back of a man just as big as Harp running up through the trees. Towards the smoke.

◄☼►

Cora’s legs pumped frantically, charging her up for the cabin. She spared looks over her shoulder, so far into the woods she couldn’t clearly see the lake’s shore. Couldn’t see Declan. She hadn’t wanted to leave him back there, but what was she to do?

When she reached the cabin, she sprinted across the small yard, nearly crashing into the snowman she and Declan built the previous day. Breathing raggedly, the frosty northern air assailing her lungs and throat, Cora rushed through the door…

And right into Shane’s hands.

She cried out and struggled. He easily pulled her further inside, kicking the door shut.

“We finally got yo black ass!” he wailed, grinning broadly, dragging her towards the bed. “And I mean to get me a little something while Angus and the boys handle that indian bastard. They gone tear ‘im up _real_ good for what he did to Toby!”

Coralee clawed at his hands and wiggled as vehemently as she could. Anything to get free. Shane spun her about, then smacked her hard across the face, making her skin sting. Cora yelped and teared up, sobbing.

“No, please! Don’t!”

“Shut up, bitch!” He swung a backhand, striking her again.

She staggered and fell to the mattress, dazed and terrified, but still trying to fight.

Shane hit her a third time, then forcefully untied her coat and pulled it off. He tore at her layered shirts, revealing the chemise underneath. Cora trembled a whimper when his grimy hand grabbed one of her breasts through the thin material and squeezed.

“_Stop! No! Pleeease!_”

He didn’t stop, her cries for help working to excite him further. Shane dropped his body on her, all of his weight. He kissed her neck and licked her cheek, and Coralee could smell his rancid breath. She closed her eyes and prayed it was over fast.

Then the door opened so forcefully, it banged against the wall.

Shane and Cora snatched eyes in the direction, and she had never been so relieved in her life. It was Makkonen, and at the same time, it was a man she’d never seen before. Fury encapsulated him; he fumed with it, and it boiled in his eyes.

Shane hopped off Cora and unsheathed his knife. “Who the fuck are you?”

Makkonen’s enraged glare flicked to Cora, who had curled up and shrank away from Shane, crying hysterically while holding up the tatters of her clothes over her breasts with shaking hands. Her cheek was reddened from the beating. Makk focused on Shane. All he wanted in that moment was to get his hands on the animal. To destroy him.

Shane backed away.

Makkonen progressed, not breaking eye contact. He flipped the table out of the way and rushed forward. Shane tried to block the man’s huge fist, but was unsuccessful, the blow crashing him against the wall. He brandished the knife, the weapon disappearing between them for a moment. Makkonen roared and headbutted Shane, then he grabbed his arm, braced, and swung him around as hard as he could.

Shane toppled into the overturned table. He wobbled to his feet, still clutching the knife.

Makkonen approached him and blocked his arm when he tried to swing the blade. The mountain man punched him in the throat, partially crushing his windpipe. It was an instantly disabling blow.

Shane’s eyes loomed, and he dropped to his knees, wheezing, clasping his neck.

Cora looked on in horror as Makkonen kicked the knife away and circled him very slowly. Like a predator who had its unfortunate prey on its last legs. The huge man calmly went to take up his ax from where it rested in a corner and returned to the gasping Shane. His hard, angry eyes drew to Cora’s, speaking without words: _Should I finish him or not?_

Coralee’s horror gradually morphed into sternness. She lifted her chin and issued a slight nod.

That was all the confirmation The Iron Bull needed. He adjusted his grip on the ax’s haft, lifted the weapon, drew it back, and brought it down in one mighty swing. Shane’s head flew clean off, rolling a short distance away. His body thudded to the floor, blood spurting from the severed stump.

Coralee jumped when the head detached, shivering, tears leaking silently from wide eyes.

Makkonen set his ax down and approached the bed. “Coralee…”

The woman finally blinked and gasped an inhalation. Her eyes shot to him, and she hurried into his arms, crying into his chest.

Makk held her dearly to him, lips buried in her hair. “It’s okay now. You’re safe.”

Cora startled and pulled back. There was blood on her shirt. “Makkonen...oh my god! You’re hurt! _Oh my god!_”

Somewhere in that short, deadly brawl, Shane managed to stab him in the side.

“It’s nothing, a flesh wound,” he said, then winced and groaned. “Stings a little, but he didn’t hit anything vital.”

“It could get infected! Maybe his blade was poisoned!”

Makkonen pressed fingers to the blood seeping through his rawhide coat, sniffed them, then flicked his tongue to taste. He shook his head. “Not poisoned. We have to go. Gather your things and get into your traveling gear.”

“W-we have to see to that wound!” Cora whined. She was crying again.

“_Apaskwaniy_.” Makkonen cupped her small, heart-shaped face, resting his gaze squarely on hers. “I will be okay. I’ve suffered much worse. Go on and get ready...please.”

Cora stared into his eyes for a long moment, then nodded and hurried off to do as he said.

While she busied herself, Makkonen yanked his coat and shirt off, went to his traveling bag, and removed some kind of herb mixture, which he packed against the wound. He wrapped a cloth bandage around his middle to cover the poultice.

◄☼►

Down at the lake, Declan’s and Angus’s fight had gotten very intense, both men’s stamina starting to wear down. Angus swung, then Declan swung. Colm and Gunter cheered on their boss.

Declan rubbed the thin cut Angus slashed over his cheek. The man was stronger than Declan thought and very good with his blades. But it was time to end it. Angus attacked with a combination, left and right jabs, both of which Declan blocked.

The frontiersman kicked him in the knee, and Angus howled dropping partly to the ground.

Declan braced, drew back his knee, and drove it forward, catching his foe under the chin. Angus flew back in the snow, spitting out blood from his busted lip. He scrambled backwards from Declan’s approach, feeling around for his knife, which had slid off somewhere.

Declan kicked him again.

Colm and Gunter stopped cheering, yelling for their fellow slavecatcher to get up. But Declan had the upper hand now, and he was prepared to go in for the kill. Having been subjected to Harp’s brute strength, Gunter knew if the big fucker got on top of Angus, Angus wouldn’t stand much of a chance...so he pulled out his knife and ran for Declan.

The half-Cree expected that the other two would make a move sooner or later. He wasn’t as surprised by the ambush as Gunter would’ve liked. And as soon as Gunter was close enough, Declan whirled around, caught his arm, and used his own momentum to flip him to the ground. In that same moment, he rammed his long knife to the hilt in Gunter’s guts.

“_NOOOOO!_” screamed Angus. “_You fucking half-breed sonovabitch! Kill him, Colm! KILL HIM!_”

Colm went for his gun. Angus did the same, scrambling for his Flintlock.

Declan wouldn’t be able to disable them before they fired their weapons. He smartly bolted for the trees, disappearing into the woods just before both men fired. Bark splintered on tree trunks where the shots hit.

“_Goddammit!_” Angus hurried to Gunter, who trembled on the ground with hands gripping his gut. Blood oozed between his fingers. “It’s okay, buddy. You’re gonna be okay. Hang in there. You hear me!”

Gunter nodded, shivering.

Colm stood over his friend, mouth open in disbelief.

Angus looked back down the shore. “Jean-Philipe! Get out here! Hurry up!”

Against his better judgment, the trapper appeared and ran over to them. He saw it all go down. The last thing he wanted was Angus Beecher looking to exact revenge for leaving them up in the Undisputed Territory.

Jean-Philipe observed Gunter. “He does not look good, monsieur.”

“No fucking shit!” Beecher returned harshly. “Get down here and keep pressure on the wound. C’mon!”

The French trapper did as ordered.

“You stay here with him,” Angus said, gathering Gunter’s gun too. “C’mon Colm. Let’s get that fucking piece of shit.”

Jean-Philipe watched them run into the woods, then focused on tending to Shane.

◄☼►

Living on the run kept one alert and ready to move. It took only a few moments for Coralee to gather her things and pull her cold weather traveling clothes on. She hurried to Declan’s bag and put his knife cleaning kit away; it was the only thing he had out.

Gunshots rattled the silence.

Makkonen grabbed up his rifle and went to the front window. Coralee hurried to his side, and he held out an arm to keep her back. “Stay low.”

She peeked around him, scanning the trees. “We have to help Declan!”

“I know. I saw him down there fighting one of them on the shore.” Makk grunted at the pain of his wound, then eased back from the window. “Get your gun. Anyone come through that door besides me or Declan, blow them away.”

Coralee mewled and went to get the weapon.

Makkonen moved in, hugged her close, and kissed the top of her head. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

At that, he carefully slipped outside, shutting the door after him.

◄☼►

Declan pumped his legs, hurrying up for the cabin. He was almost there when he saw Makkonen fast approaching.

“Coralee?”

“She’s inside packed and ready to go,” Makkonen answered.

Declan eyed the blood on his coat, the slit where Shane's blade had pierced. “What happened?”

“Nothing serious. You should see the other fellow.”

The frontiersman nodded, sparing a look down through the trees. “Let’s move.”

When they got back to the cabin, Makk called from the yard, “Coralee, it’s us.” He knew the woman was on edge, skittish, and he didn’t want a bullet hole on top of his stab wound.

The door flew open and she ran out, hugging Declan tight. “I was so scared! When I heard those gunshots, I thought…I thought…”

“It’s okay,” Declan said tenderly. A frown branded his features. “What happened to your face?"

It was still red, and a bruise had formed on her jaw. Coralee’s eyes swept from his, closing to clench back the tears.

“I walked in on the fourth man trying to rape her,” Makkonen said.

“Fucker.” Declan’s lips mashed into a resentful line. “He the one who stabbed you?”

“Yes.”

“He better be dead.”

“He is. And I’m sure he suffered before I took his head off.”

“Good. Oh, Cora…” Declan hugged her to him again, sighed, then ran inside. He sneered at Shane’s headless corpse. “We need to go.”

Cora pulled her pack on.

Makkonen did the same, grunting when the pain in his side sharpened with the movement.

A gunshot boomed, the pellet catching the doorjamb.

Makk instantly went for Coralee, pulling her into a crouch with him.

“We got you pinned, you red bastard!” Angus roared.

Two more shots came.

“Stay down, Coralee!” Declan said.

She huddled at the rear of the cabin in the corner.

Declan and Makkonen crept up to the front window, taking care when they spied out.

“One at twelve o’clock, one at three,” Makk reported lowly.

“I think there’s only two. I stabbed one down at the lake.” Declan scanned the trees. “They’re reloading, and they have more than two guns between them.”

_BOOM!_

Another shot shattered the front window. Makkonen took the moment to pivot around, brace, aim out the door, and fire.

Bark exploded not far from Colm’s head. He retracted behind the trunk, breathing hard. “Holy shit! Angus, he ain’t alone!”

“Yeah! I see! Looked like another darkie! Half indian! A big one!”

Back inside the cabin, Declan turned to Makkonen, keeping his voice low. “Out the back window with Coralee. I’ll give some cover fire while you get up through the trees.”

“Brother…”

“Go, Makkonen!” the frontiersman hissed.

Makk sighed and moved to Cora, staying low. He pulled up the window, then waited for Declan to fire at their enemy, before quickly lifting the woman over the sill. Once she landed, Makk tossed his bag, rifle, and ax out, then followed. He latched his ax to his back.

“Come on, Coralee!” Makk took her hand, and they ran further into the woods.

Back inside the cabin, Declan set up another rifle shot with expert speed—black powder, ball shot, pan primed, hammer secured at half-cock. He waited for the barrage of shots from Angus and Colm. Four booms resounded.

Declan took a breath, zipped his aim around the corner to fix on Angus’s last known position, and fired. The round snapped away bark on the tree behind which his enemy hid. Declan didn’t waste any time. They were reloading. Keeping low, he grabbed up his pack, tossed it out the back window, and followed Cora and Makk.

◄☼►

Angus remained in cover, his back against the tree. His head rolled left, and he locked eyes with Colm, who shrugged. They’d reloaded two guns apiece, and neither of their foes had taken the chance to lay down some fire.

Something wasn’t right.

Angus signaled for Colm to move in, while he did the same. With their weapons up and ready, fixed on the open door and shattered window, they very cautiously approached. They flanked the doorway, and when Angus gave the nodding signal, they stormed inside the cabin.

There was no sign of Declan Harp, Coralee, or the nameless half-black, half-Native man; they had escaped through the back window. However, Angus and Colm couldn’t miss Shane’s head. It rested in the middle of the floor, eyes half open, glazed and staring at nothing but sweet oblivion.

Colm lurched, heaved, and vomited.

Angus stood silently over Shane’s body, quivering, anger building up inside him like a volcanic magma chamber preparing to explode. He threw his head back and roared furiously, a sound that thundered through the woods.


	10. The Tribe

Colm sat out in the yard next to the snowman Declan and Cora created, tears streaming steadily from his eyes. Shane had been like a brother to him, and he never imagined he’d meet his end in such a macabre manner.

Angus stood in the doorway of the cabin holding a torch, eyes roaming slowly over the interior. He used lamp fluid to douse as much as he could, including Shane’s remains. After a silent goodbye, he tossed the torch. Flames blazed up instantly, engulfing.

The slavecatcher turned, ran a hand over his shaggy, dark hair and headed to Colm. He spoke in a hindered, numb voice. “C’mon, Colm. Let’s get on back to Gunter.”

Colm sluggishly got to his feet, and the two of them headed down for the lake. Behind them, flames licked and lapped from the window of Makkonen’s cabin, consuming the structure from the inside out.

When they reached the shore, they saw Jean-Philipe standing over Gunter wearing a solemn expression, his head bowed.

“Fuck,” Angus uttered. He knew he’d lost a third man.

He and Colm went to the body, no one speaking for a moment.

“We need to leave this alone, Angus,” Colm finally voiced quietly. “Three of us are dead now. We need to just go on back south, back home, and let that indian be, let him have the girl. I don’t care about the money no more. I just wanna go home.”

“And you can do that,” Angus answered coolly. “But I ain’t leavin’ until I kill that sumbitch!”

“Angus!”

“Calm yourself, Colm. We’re going back to Fort James for now, and you can get on home from there if you like. I’m gonna round me up a posse and get back up here, into that Forest Cree land. That’s where he’s goin’.”

Colm shook his head. “You’re insane, you know that? Fucking insane.”

“Yep. Maybe.”

“Where you gone find a gang willing to hunt for Declan Harp?”

“Might take some time, but I think I can find some men,” Angus said. “He ain’t well-liked by the Hudson Bay Company. I’ll see about getting them to help. Let’s take care of Gunter.”

Jean-Philipe listened to them going back and forth. He knew that once he got them back to Fort James, he would be making a hasty exit and disappearing off the grid for a few months. He wanted nothing more to do with Angus Beecher and his crazy plans.

The three of them dug up a snow drift by the edge of the forest, set Gunter’s body in the grave, and buried it, then headed south.

◄☼►

Declan, Coralee, and Makkonen exited the trees and stood on a large, wide bluff overlooking the woods. They watched the heavy smoke cloud billowing up through the treetops.

“My cabin,” Makk droned, sadness blanketing over him. “My father built that place with his bare hands, and those fuckers burned it down.”

“Sorry, brother,” said Declan softly. “We’ll rebuild it someday.”

Cora closed her eyes. “Oh, Makkonen...I...I’m so sorry. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t come up here. I-I-It’s all my fault…” She started to cry.

Makk turned to her. “No, it’s not. None of it is your fault, you hear me?”

She hugged into him, mindful of the stab wound. The mountain man took a moment to comfort her.

Declan observed their embrace, glad Makk was able to calm her down and dry her tears. “Come on. We need to get to cover before nightfall. It’ll be snowing again soon.”

◄☼►

Declan knew the weather well. Just as he said, the snowfall started within an hour of them resuming their journey. They used a bridge of rope and planks (Cora found it far too swingy for her liking) to cross the slim band of the Red River, following the land up until it flattened out, revealing a sea of trees spreading to the north and west.

They followed the ridge until they came to a good-sized cave. It was evident to Cora that Declan and Makkonen used it for shelter regularly, based on the bundles of wood against one wall. A circle of stones and blackened ashes was in the center of the cave floor.

The trio set their packs down.

Makkonen headed for the stock of wood, intending to build a fire. He grunted thickly.

“Hey. Go sit down,” Declan called, moving past him.

“I’m not an invalid, Declan. You know I’ve had worse than this scratch.”

“It’s not a scratch. You were stabbed. Now go rest,” Declan ordered, face stern, brow leveled and unamused.

Makkonen finally relented. He went to his gear by the firepit and lowered.

Cora sat beside him. “Let me check that wound. It needs to be properly cleaned and bandaged.”

The mountain man didn’t argue. He slowly removed his coat and shirts. Cora carefully untied the single loop of bandaging he applied down at the cabin. By the dying light of day, she examined the injury.

“At least it clotted,” she said softly. “It’s not seeping, and it looks surprisingly good.”

“See,” he started, “told you it wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

“Uh-huh.” She smirked at him.

“Get the bandages and pouch of medical herbs out of my bag.”

While Cora tended to Makkonen’s wound, Declan got a nice blaze going. The half-Cree man left them to go find a rabbit or something for dinner. They had some provisions, but Declan and Makkonen were survivalists. It was always wise to save supplies and hunt when possible, since one never knew when they’d need the extra food.

Cora had finished packing on the herbs. Now, Makk had his arms up so she could wrap a few layers of bandaging around his torso. This put them very close together, their faces inches apart. Cora tried to concentrate on the task at hand. He was like a living, breathing furnace pouring off heat. Fragrant heat. He smelled so good, of pine, cedar, and open mountain air, all twining harmoniously with his natural manly musk. Cora imagined immersing herself in that scent, rolling around in a pile of his clothes, happy as a pig in mud, and she blushed tremendously.

Makkonen’s eyes fixed to her face, admiring her delicate, exotic features, still beautiful even with the bruise on her cheek.

Cora knew he watched her, felt the warmth of his gaze. Yet, she avoided eye contact. When she finished tying off the bandage, she sat back. “How is that?”

“It’s a solid dressing. Thank you.” Makk smiled tenderly, pulling his shirt layers back on, his coat.

“Thank _you_ for saving me, for keeping that savage from...from taking me.”

“I would do anything to keep you safe, Coralee.”

“Yes, I know…” she spoke in a hushed voice.

A burdensome, reflective silence ensued.

Makkonen could see that was shaken. “You okay?”

With Makk having shared pieces of his life with her, Cora felt compelled to do the same. She just wanted to talk about something to make her forget the last few hours. She settled beside Makkonen, watching the flames.

“You know,” she started, “I didn’t have it as bad as some others on the plantation. I worked in the big house, and my quarters, while out with the other slaves, were a little bigger. All the house slaves were treated better than those that worked in the field. But, I didn’t see them as any different. In the end, we were all black and in chains.”

Makkonen listened closely, watching her.

Cora continued. “But there was a clear separation. That’s the master’s plan, to divide us so we hate each other. It didn’t apply to me, but I saw it a lot with other slaves. Those that worked in the fields holding a grudge with house slaves because our skin was lighter, and house slaves looking down on those in the fields because their skin was darker. It’s so stupid how brainwashed they had us, how brainwashed they still are.”

She shook her head, pausing to gather her thoughts.

“None of us were winning. We were all slaves. My pa, he was sold off to another master before I was barely able to walk. He...he shared the same father as Master Cassidy. They’re brothers, which makes Master Cassidy my uncle.”

She shivered to think of how gross he was, wanting to bed his own niece.

“It wasn’t all bad, though. I used to wait until the overseers shut the fields down, then sneak out there to watch the sunset, spreading that reddish-pink glow over a sea of cotton. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. But now that I think about it, that red cotton symbolizes the blood of those before me that lived and died in captivity, those that will continue to live and die in it, slaving away for those monsters…”

Cora broke down into tears.

Makkonen’s arm slipped around her, and he said affectionately, “Don’t cry.”

“I…” she sniffled, “I-I miss my mama. I miss her so much!”

He held her close, rubbing her back, speaking in a hushed tone, “Everything’s going to be alright.”

“_I’m so tired of running and having to be strong all the time!_”

“Just let me hold you, and I’ll be strong for both of us, _apaskwaniy_. Shhh, it’s alright.”

Cora melted against him, fully releasing the knot of feelings stored in her. She sobbed for a minute or two, then finally calmed, content to be held in his muscular arms, safely surrounded by his masculine scent and welcome heat. She sniffled and pulled back to focus wet hazel eyes on him. Unthinkingly, she pushed her mouth to his, delivering an innocent, lingering kiss, enjoying the tickle of his beard on her face, the sharing of their two breaths melding into one. It felt extraordinarily..._right_.

Alarmingly so.

Makkonen was very pleasantly surprised by her sudden kiss, groaning sensuously, tightening his hold to keep her against him. Her scent drove him wild with desire. He might’ve been minorly injured, but that didn’t mean his body couldn’t respond when aroused. The ample girth in his trousers had firmed up, throbbing.

She gasped and retracted. “I’m sorry…”

He inhaled greatly of her fragrance. “It’s okay, _apaskwaniy_.”

“I...I shouldn’t have done that,” she said softly, shaking her head. Flustered, she pulled from his embrace and hurried around the fire, leaving him to watch sensuously after her.

Makkonen re-established control, willing his body to calm. He had never craved a woman as badly as he did Coralee. And it turned out she also wanted him. While the mountain man was thrilled about it, he realized it further complicated things where Declan was involved. Makkonen knew now that he wouldn’t turn Cora away if she decided to pursue him instead of his tribe-brother. He couldn’t explain the way she made him feel, how all the pieces fell clearly into place when she kissed him, the invisible force that passed between them while their bodies touched.

_Goddamit_, Makkonen cursed inwardly.

Coralee was the _one_. The one he always feared would turn up someday and make an honest man out of him without even trying. He’d known the woman less than a week and was in love with her.

_Now, how in the hell did this happen?_

Makkonen scratched his head, then ran a hand over his beard, observing Cora on the other side of the flames. She was avoiding his gaze mostly, stealing looks at him.

When Declan returned shortly after, he found them sitting in silence, and he didn’t think much of it, considering the day they’d had. He plucked the pheasant he found for dinner and got it over the fire, then sat beside Coralee.

The woman scooted closer, and Declan put an arm around her for comfort and warmth. Coralee closed her eyes a moment. When she opened them, she found Makkonen watching her and Declan with longing and envy in his eyes, unable to push aside what had happened between them.

Coralee couldn’t get him off her mind either. He remained there long after she settled for bed between Declan and the fire, all the way up until she slipped into slumber.

◄☼►

They rose the next morning and saw that half a foot of new snowfall blanketed the land, thoroughly filling in their tracks. Though Declan doubted Angus was foolish enough to follow them. After a small breakfast of dried goods, the three of them commenced northwest. The weather held up well for the most part.

Five days after the encounter at the cabin, they emerged from the forested valley and onto the low hills piled against sheer granite cliffs. During that time, Coralee kept a respective distance from Makkonen, even though they continued sharing secretive glances. All of the relationship stuff was so new and confusing to her. Makk wanted to speak to her about what happened in the cave, but there was no privacy to do so. It also didn’t help that she was avoiding him.

Coralee tipped her head all the way back and gawked up at the massive wall of rock. She supposed it was as close to seeing a mountain as she was going to get for now.

“Are these the rock faces you spoke of?” Cora prompted Makkonen. The three of them walked east along the granite slabs, hooded by their great shadow. “The ones like at your village?”

The mountain man’s wound was doing much better. He smiled at her. “Yes. Won’t be much longer now. Just gotta follow the cliffs around to the river. The river will take us home.”

“At this pace, and on such a clear day, I figure we’ll get there this afternoon,” entered Declan.

Cora eased a soft sigh, heart fluttering. She couldn’t wait to get to the village. Maybe they’d let her stay, and she could finally stop running. Maybe then she’d also talk with Makkonen about their kiss. She could still feel his lips pressed to hers.

They traveled at a steady pace. It took little more than an hour to reach the place where the cliffs broke, opening up to show a wide strip of water down through the trees.

Declan smiled. “_Petastew-sipiy_. Moon River.”

Coralee stared at the surrounding scenery. Across the river were more cliffs, lining all along the bank. Canyons that had been carved by water and wind through the ages. It was easy to see why no English had come to invade the area. The terrain was unforgiving, jagged, and brutal. Bottlenecked by the river, cliffs, and hundreds of miles of forest.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathed.

“Wait until you see the village,” said Makkonen.

They started down towards the river, entering the trees. A bird called out, and Cora yanked eyes in the direction. Then Declan cupped his hand to his mouth and mimicked the bird call. Shortly after, the foliage rustled and a Cree man stepped out before them. The top half of his face was painted white. He was one of several scouts in the area.

His expressive eyes swept over his tribe-brothers, then Coralee. He spoke to Makkonen. “Awinawa?” _Who is this?_

“Natamototawew,” said Makk. _She seeks refuge._

Declan stepped in, placing his arm around Coralee. “Nin sipa kanawisi. Pikiskwestamawew.” _She’s under my protection. I vouch for her._

Makkonen spared a look to Declan and Cora. His tribe-brother was only following protocol for bringing outsiders into their territory. But Makk couldn’t dismiss the jealousy that seized him. The scout would likely construe Declan’s arm around Cora as a sign that she was his, and not just any person seeking asylum.

The scout examined the young beauty, then smiled and nodded, eyes skirting back to Declan. “Okay,” he switched to English, stepping aside so they could continue to the river.

Coralee looked over her shoulder for the man, but he’d already vanished into the trees. “What was all that about?”

“Standard procedure,” Declan answered. “You can’t see them, but there are scouts positioned for a few miles out. It’s their job to screen outsiders. I told him that you’re with me, and I take responsibility for you while you’re here.”

“I see.”

The sound of flowing water grew closer, as did the damp scent of the river. They exited the trees to the bank. To the left on the snowy shore were three large overturned canoes. Declan and Makkonen immediately went to one, flipped it rightside up, and set it down.

Cora watched in nervous silence as they loaded their bags into it. Declan strode over to remove her pack from her shoulders, placing it in the canoe as well. “Are we really getting into that thing?”

Makkonen chuckled. “You scared?”

“Yes,” she said simply, hands twiddling. “A little. Never been on a boat before.”

“It’s not so bad,” the mountain man said. “C’mon.”

Coralee rolled her eyes, took a breath, and went to the vessel, which Declan and Makkonen had maneuvered to the shallows. She shakily climbed aboard, then Makkonen jumped in the front. Declan braced and pushed until the canoe floated, hopping in behind her as the current captured it, starting it down river.

The men detached the oars from the inner wall of the boat, secured them on the rim, then started rowing, guiding. Cora swallowed, watching the shore recede as they floated into deeper water. She found the steady rocking surprisingly soothing. Up ahead, the canyon forked into two river paths. Makkonen and Declan steered the canoe for the narrower path, taking them between two high, winding stone faces.

Cora caught glimpses of figures up top watching. Scouts.

A series of bird calls resounded through the canyon. Signals of the Forest Cree.

The frontiersman and mountain man rowed closer to the left rock face, and as they rounded the bend, Cora saw an indentation with a gravelly shore. A couple dozen canoes were stored there, along with some crates of goods. A thin path went back in the rock face.

The men rowed the canoe to the shore, running it aground. They hopped out and pulled the vessel fully from the water.

“Cora,” Declan said, reaching for her.

She put her arms out expecting that he’d assist her from the boat, but the large man securely grabbed her and easily lifted her out. He set her down, then removed her bag, handing it over. After Declan and Makkonen pulled their gear on, they started for the large crack in the rock, a stairwell chiseled into the stone, leading gradually up, further into the cliff. Lanterns lined the walls.

“This...seems like a weird way to enter your village,” Cora spoke quietly, eyes widened in the dim lighting.

Makkonen chuckled. “There’s more than one way to get in. I suppose you could say this is a back door. It was faster to take this way, or we would’ve spent a couple of hours taking one of the trails up to the plateau.”

“Hm,” Cora mused.

Declan led the way, with her behind him, and Makk at the rear. The steps evened out to a wider passage, at the end of which was light. Before they emerged, a Cree man shifted from the left, blocking their way. His eyes skimmed them, and he grinned, moving aside.

A guard.

They slipped from the passage into a small clearing surrounded by trees. A short trip down a path took them from the foliage, placing them on the northeast edge of the village. Coralee’s mouth parted in aw as she beheld the settlement.

“Wow…”

Everything that Makkonen told her didn’t do actually _seeing_ it justice. The plateau was enormous. Tiers had been dug and fashioned, upon which were dozens of tipi and waskahikan. On the far side from where the three of them stood, Cora saw horses grazing. So many people milled about in their daily lives, working and existing as one. There were also large sectionals of fenced land for crops, though at this time of year, the harvest was over and it was blanketed in snow; new crops would be planted in the spring. Cora could already see she was going to like it there.

She, Declan, and Makkonen moved further into sight, closer to the village. It wasn’t long before attention fell on them, people observing the newcomer curiously, spreading apart to allow their two warriors and the woman passage. Cora felt like she was being led down a gauntlet for the gallows or something, the way everyone stared.

A man approached dressed as culturally as everyone else. His long hair formed a braid down his back. He fell into step with them. “Niciwam, atamiskawew.” _Brothers, welcome home._

“Been a couple of months, Mohco,” Declan switched to English, gripping the man’s forearm briefly in greeting. Many of the Cree had picked up the white man’s language. It was hard not to with the Europeans injecting their presence through colonization.

“You’re still alive and well, I see,” Mohco said. He looked over Coralee, then flipped his gaze to Makkonen. “Scouts have sent back word. Your mother awaits in the village center.”

“I figured as much. We better get there then.”

Cora pulled back her hood to reveal that she’d braided her hair and swooped it up, the tight curls fashioned atop her head. Another good traveling do. She followed after Makkonen and Declan, eyes skimming her surroundings, all the faces. There were a lot of children there.

They moved along a path for a large open area. A carved wooden totem rose in the center. Standing before the tribal statue were six people. Three women and three men. One of the women stood forward of the other five. Cora instantly knew the woman was the _okimaw_, Makkonen’s mother. He had her expressive, deep brown eyes, and his features shared much of the same bone structure. Her hair was worn in two long, leather-wrapped braids that hung forward of her shoulders. An elaborate plume of feathers adorned her head, her long coat decorated by intricate beadwork.

The woman regarded her son and Declan with nods, then settled her gaze on Cora. “Welcome. I am Miyotehew, Okimaw of the Forest Cree. You are…?”

Cora cleared her throat and wet her lips, beholding the power and beauty of Makkonen’s mother. She spared a look sideways at Declan, then faced Miyotehew. “I...I’m Coralee. Coralee Cassidy. And I’ve come seeking a place to stay, to live.”

The other five Council members looked on quietly. Even the collective volume of the villagers dropped to hushed murmurs. Cora was beginning to sweat under her traveling clothes.

Declan stepped forward, lowered to one knee, and bowed his head a moment. He stood and addressed Miyotehew and the Council. “She is with me. I vouch for her.”

Miyotehew nodded. “Understood.” Her visage veered to the young southern woman. “Coralee Cassidy, you will be able to formally state your request before the Council tomorrow, upon which time a decision will be made—whether you can stay or not. For now, you will be given quarters and food. I’m sure you’re tired and hungry.”

The okimaw nodded at Mohco, and he stepped forward, ready to take Coralee to a tipi.

Coralee nodded, bowing her head the way Declan had. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Miyotehew waited until Cora lifted her eyes, then drew on a mysterious smile. “You’re welcome.”

At that the okimaw and Council walked off.

Mohco addressed Cora, “This way please.”

Before anyone could take a step, a short, pretty woman with round cheeks broke from the crowd. “Makkonen, Declan, mocikisiw otahk miyonohk.” _I’m glad you two are back safe._

Makkonen chuckled, deciding to answer in English. He didn’t want Coralee to feel at odds for being unable to speak Cree. “C’mon. You just saw me a few weeks ago.”

“And I missed you,” the woman said.

“Okay…” Makkonen’s eyes flicked to Declan and Cora. The frontiersman looked very amused and pleased by the conversation. Cora looked uncomfortable. “So, Coralee, this is Piwan. Piwan, as you just heard, this is Coralee.”

Piwan caught the look Makkonen gave the younger woman, and she didn’t like it. As a matter of fact, Piwan decided in that moment that she didn’t like _her_.

Cora brightened a bit and held her hand out. “I’ve heard a little about you, how you, Declan, and Makkonen grew up together. A pleasure.”

Indeed, they had grown up together. It was sometime in her mid-teens that Piwan’s feelings for Makk shifted romantically. No matter how many ways she’d hinted at her attraction, the man always kept her in the friend zone. But she wasn’t a little girl, only five years younger than him, and she was quite set on gaining the handsome, honorable man as her mate. He wasn’t settled with anyone, so there was always a chance.

Piwan’s eyes hardened slightly on the offered hand, and she snorted, then turned fully to Makkonen. She smiled broadly up at him, playfully tapping his arm. “When you’re done settling in, come find me so we can share dinner together.”

She moved off.

Makkonen sighed. “Sorry. I don’t know what’s going on with her.”

“It’s alright,” Cora said.

Declan chuckled softly. “Maybe you should go see if she’s okay, get ready for that dinner engagement. I’ll get Coralee to her tipi. Lead on, Mohco.”

Coralee stole a look at Makkonen, then followed Declan and Mohco.

Makkonen watched yearningly after the woman he loved, then turned and started for his tipi. His place was located on an eastern tier, flanked by some pine trees. On his way over to it, he returned the smiles, greetings, and nods from his people. When he reached the large tipi, he pulled back the flap, entered, set his gear down, and stretched.

Home sweet home.

It was neat and roomy, all of his things stored in chests and crates. There was a big bed of furs in one section and a firepit in the center.

A momentary breeze pushed inside when the flap eased back and Miyotehew entered. Makkonen turned to her, crossing arms over his chest. “No announcement? I could’ve been naked in here.”

She smirked. “You don’t have anything I haven’t seen.”

“Mother…”

Miyotehew laughed, approached, and reached to tuck hair behind his ear. “Alright, alright. I will announce myself...when I remember to.”

“Uh-huh. Thanks.” Makk rolled his eyes.

“I just wanted to stop by and tell you that I’m glad you found Coralee Cassidy. She’s lovely and very humble. Strong. I can see why you like her. She’ll be perfect for you, tame that wild heart of yours.”

Makkonen blinked down at his mother. “Um...she and I aren’t a thing. She’s…” It almost hurt to voice the rest. “She’s with Declan.”

The okimaw loosened a smooth chuckle and patted his cheek. She noticed the way he watched Cora and the looks she returned to him. “If you say so, my son.”

She turned and left, leaving him to stare baffled after her.

◄☼►

Declan and Coralee walked a short distance behind Mohco. The frontiersman was taking pleasure in her reactions to his home. Her bright eyes jotted here and there, absorbing everything. They passed a large single-story building that looked like a hybrid of a log cabin and a couple of tipis, with its wooden walls and tented hide roof.

“What’s that?” Cora stared up the wide wood steps.

“The Council Chamber,” said Declan. “That’s where we’ll go tomorrow so they can hear you out, hopefully decide to let you stay.”

Her head craned as they walked by so she could observe the building, then she faced forward. Mohco led them down a wide path flanked by tipis, not far from the Council Chamber. He stopped at one and held his arm out.

“This will be your quarters for the duration of your stay,” said Mohco. “I was assigned to be your proxy, but”—his eyes shifted to Declan—“I assume you will attend to her.”

“Yes, I will. I got it from here. Thanks.” Declan pat the other man’s shoulder.

Mohco nodded and left them standing outside the tipi.

“Shall we?” The frontiersman smiled warmly and stepped forward to unhook the heavy flap across the entryway.

Coralee followed him inside. She set her traveling bag down and stood in place, letting her eyes roam. The interior was simple and clean, holding the same design as most tipis: a fire pit in the center, a bed of furs and blankets sitting on tanned animal skin to keep it off the ground, some small crates for storage, a stock of wood and kindling.

Declan lit one of two lamps sitting on a low table, then moved to start a fire in the pit. “I hope this suits you.”

“It’s perfect. I’ve never been inside a tipi before. I always thought they’d be smaller, but this is actually very spacious. I suppose it would have to be for someone as big as you to fully stand inside.” She chuckled and smiled at him when he moved to tower over her again.

“Yeah…” The Cree Irishman quickly found himself lost in her dreamy, dazzling hazel eyes.

They stared at one another, somewhat unsure of what move to make next, both wondering if they should pick up where they left off before Angus and his goons interrupted them. Declan was more than willing to resume. Cora, however, had receded back into the realm of doubts. She couldn’t ignore her feelings for Makkonen, the hot tension and spark that passed between them when they kissed.

Declan sensed her unease. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and gently took her chin in his fingers, tilting her face slightly. “That bruise is almost gone. You heal fast.”

Cora nodded, the dimples in her cheeks emphasized with her deepened smile. “I always have.”

“Good,” he breathed, so very tempted to pull her against him for a swooning, heart-pounding kiss. If he did that, though, she would feel how much she sexually excited him. Declan cleared his throat, hand dropping. “I’ll let you get settled and rested. The evening feast will start in a couple of hours, and I’ll come by to grab you then. If you’re hungry now, there’s some dried meat, fruit, flatbread, and water over there.”

He gestured to a section of the tipi by the crates.

“Thank you, Declan. For everything. I cannot express my gratitude enough for all you’ve done. I’ll see you a little later.”

“Oh, I’ll need your gun. Tribe procedures. All firearms are secured in storage for safety reasons.”

“Yes, of course.” Cora lowered, opened her bag, and removed the one-shot pistol Elizabeth gave her, along with the powder flask, shots, and loading kit. She handed it over to him.

“See you in a bit.” The large man took the items, smiled, and left.

Coralee released a long sigh, her thoughts easing back to a certain tall, handsome, broad, mahogany-skinned man. Even now she could smell him, see his roguish smile. She shook her head.

Makkonen and Declan. Night and Day.

The southern beauty was caught between them. She cared very much for both, that she knew. The hard part would be choosing one over the other.


	11. Cora's Fate and the Devil's Return

Traditionally, community meals were served in the evening, though people could prepare their own food whenever they wished. The custom was established long ago to honor warriors and hunters. They risked their lives and worked hard to provide safety and food for the Tribe. So, at the end of the day, they had a robust meal waiting for them.

And what a feast it was. Whole slabs of caribou and wild pig roasting over great fires outside the dining lodge, root vegetables, grains, flat bread, fruit preserves, berries, nuts, and more.

The dining lodge was undoubtedly the largest structure in the whole village. Constructed fully of wood with a vaulted ceiling and a hexagonal shape, it wasn’t far from the village center. There were front and rear entrances. A wide hearth blazed on one wall, filling the place with warmth and providing light along with many well-positioned lanterns. Against another wall was a slightly raised area with a long table and chairs; Miyotehew and two Council members dined there, speaking amongst themselves. Most of the tables and chairs in the lodge were occupied, villagers passing through to eat and commune...and gawk at the newcomer.

Coralee.

She sat across the table from Declan eating, talking, and laughing.

Makkonen leaned against a wall, picking at the food on his plate, watching them. He didn’t notice the person who’d come to stop by him, following his intense line of sight.

“Hey, Chief.”

Makk’s eyes flipped to his right, and he grinned. “Krem.”

Ten years ago, Krem had been on her own but earned her way into the tribe at age seventeen when scouts found her staggering through Forest Cree land. Similar to Samoset, the tribeless Ottawa girl had lost her family and place in the world when her settlement was raided. Ottawa had been integrating into the tribe for almost a hundred years. Miyotehew and the Council granted her instant citizenship because they saw her strength and worth; she’d been mauled by a wolf and sustained claw slashes over her right cheek, scars she was quite proud of. In the end, she’d killed the animal with a knife.

Makkonen took her in as his ward, training her on tribe ways, customs, culture, and language, which she picked up quickly since the tongues of the Cree and Ottawa were similar. Krem developed a very special love for him, the kind a sister would have for her big brother. Soon, she started calling him “Chief” in joking, stating leadership was in his blood. She believed he’d lead the tribe someday, so the nickname was fitting.

It was obvious from the start that Krem wasn’t into men, but the softer sex. She never tried to hide her preference. She moved like a man, her womanly curves hardened by muscle. Aside from Sokanon, Krem was the only other woman to hunt and raid, going off often with Declan’s Black Wolf Company.

The rather handsome woman ran a hand over her fauxhawk, returning Makkonen’s grin. She’d been out hunting when he, Declan, and their guest arrived. “Heard we had some fresh meat around here. Who’s the beauty?”

Makkonen chuckled. “Her name’s Coralee. She ran from a plantation. Dec and I brought her up to keep her safe.”

“Ah, good.” Krem nodded. Her golden-brown eyes twinkled at him. “So...is she yours or Declan’s?”

He smirked lightly. “She belongs to no one.”

“So...neither of you claimed her? Ha. Guess that means you won’t mind if I have a go. Maybe you boys aren't her type, know what I mean?” Krem winked and nudged him. “Later.”

Makk watched her stride off to grab some food, shaking his head in amusement. Krem could be extremely charming with the ladies, but he knew she had very little chance of getting to Coralee. After the kiss his _apaskwaniy_ gave him in the cave, Makkonen had no doubt where her sexual interests lie.

Across the lodge, their banter lost to the constant drone of chatter, Cora and Declan continued their meal. The southern beauty’s eyes caught Makk’s, lingering a moment. The mountain man didn’t know why, but he veered his gaze to Miyotehew and saw that she watched him. The regal woman painted a soft, knowing smile for her son.

Makk sighed, then groaned lowly when he saw Piwan heading towards him.

“Makkonen, you were supposed to come find me so we could eat together.”

He smiled down at her. “Why do you want to eat with me anyway?”

Piwan’s frown dissipated, transforming into an admiring smile. “Because...I like spending time with you.”

“Piwan…” Makkonen sighed. “I like spending time with you too, but I’m not sure where you think this”—he pointed between the two of them—“is going.”

Her expression dropped.

Makk immediately felt like an asshole. Even so, she had to get notions of romance with him out of her mind. Declan was right about what he said during the game of Noddy. Piwan had been in love with him for a while, and Makk knew it. He noticed how she abruptly shifted from her “tomboy” stage one summer, going through efforts to make herself more attractive for him.

“Piwan,” he said softly, his words camouflaged by the constant drone of village chatter in the lodge, “I don’t see you in a romantic way. I never will.”

Piwan didn’t know what to say. She caught sight of Declan and Coralee, and her frown returned. “Is it because of _her_?”

“Piwan, don’t.”

“I _know_ you. Have known you for twenty years. We’re the same tribe. She’s an outsider.”

“We’re not doing this here.”

“Fine! Outside then!”

Makkonen hefted a great sigh. He supposed a legit talk about their status was due after so many years of dodging the subject. The man set his plate on the nearest table and followed her out. They went around the side of the building. For a long stretch of seconds, they stood there watching each other, Piwan with tears in her eyes.

“Makkonen,” she breathed, shifting to their native tongue. “I love you. I always have. Don’t you feel _anything_ for me?”

She pressed a hand to his chest, over his heart.

“Yes,” he said tenderly. “You’re one of my best friends, Piwan. I’d do anything for you. But I can’t love you the way you want.”

“Why! Am I not good enough!”

Makkonen chuffed and smiled sadly. “Of course, you are. I’m just not the one for you.”

“You love that outsider.”

Verbally, he gave no answer, but his eyes said it all, the look on his face.

Piwan released a sigh and closed her eyes, keeping the tears from falling. She finally looked at him. “She seems to be more interested in Declan. No one will ever love you like I do.”

She hurried away.

Makkonen leaned back on the lodge wall. He really wished there was some way to give Piwan what she wanted. He just didn’t harbor that kind of love for her. “Fuck.”

◄☼►

Back inside the dining lodge, Coralee saw Makkonen leave with Piwan. She doubted the nature of their hasty exit had anything to do with intimacy, but it was hard not to imagine them in one of many shadowy nooks, kissing and rubbing and moaning…

“Coralee?”

“Huh?” She snapped out of her mind, eyes jerking to Declan across the table.

“You alright? Looked like you were a thousand miles away just now.” The frontiersman chuckled.

“Yes. I’m fine. I was just thinking over everything that’s happened.”

“Yeah, I know it’s been tough. You’re safe now, though.”

Cora nodded. Her hazel vision moved to the Council table. Observing Makkonen’s mother, something occurred to her. Hesitantly, she asked, “Where are your parents?”

Declan inhaled slowly. Exhaled. “Dead.”

“Oh…” Cora's smooth brow creased sadly. She nibbled her lip.

“Cree mother, Irish father, as you know. The attack that took Makkonen’s father also took my mother’s life. When I was ten, my father died from sickness of the lungs. I was raised by the tribe until I turned seventeen, at which time I moved to Fort Severn to work for Archibald Benton.”

Before Fort James, Severn served as the primary base of operations for the HBC. To maximize efficiency and support the growing ranks of troops and settlers shifting to the New World, the HBC moved to Fort James.

The Cree Irishman darkened visibly, features hardening.

“My father worked under that foul son of a bitch for ten years. Never realized he was being used, trusted him all the way to the end. I work for Benton for eight years before I found out he was sabotaging relations between the tribes for the benefit of the Hudson Bay Company. That’s when I turned on him, on everything the HBC stands for. And he ruined my life, killed Nuna and Mikinok, my wife and son.”

Declan had brought Nuna and Mikinok down from the Forest Cree village to live in a native settlement closer to where he worked with Benton. When Declan betrayed him, Benton took a company of soldiers to attack the settlement, killing almost everyone. Afterwards, they set fire to consume the place. The only way Declan was able to identify Nuna’s body was a necklace he gave her, still around her neck.

“Oh, Declan. I’m so very sorry…” Coralee had gotten the short version of the fate that befell Declan’s family weeks ago during their travels. His elaboration gave her more insight into the history between him and Benton, why Declan was the way he was. She reached to take his hand, a tender moment shared between them. Beneath his rough, brooding exterior, she knew Declan carried a lot of pain. Cora stood and went to occupy the chair beside him, hugging her arms around him. “I don’t know what I could ever do to help you, but when you want somebody to talk to, to vent or whatever, I’m here. Okay?”

The frontiersman smiled, hugged her against him, and kissed her forehead. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Standing just inside the door, Makkonen witnessed their affectionate exchange. It was kind of crushing to watch. The mountain man spun and left the dining lodge.

◄☼►

After the meal, Declan took Cora back to her tipi to gather clean clothes and towels, then walked her to one of three bathing _waskahikan_. The buildings weren’t segregated by gender, which threw Cora off a bit, but there were private sections with walls of tanned hide for modest bathers.

Large kettles heated over a central firepit. The kettles were rolled over tubs that looked like small canoes and tipped to fill, like back at Grace’s tavern. Coralee found the design of the bathing houses to be quite ingenious. Stone-lined channels were dug into the ground beneath the wood plank flooring. The tubs emptied into the shallow ditches, carrying water away to drain in a designated area.

After Declan gave her the rundown of things, Cora insisted that she could make it back to her tipi fine. So, he left her to it. Now, being one of the modest bathers, the young woman leaned back in the tub, concealed by moveable walls, her eyes closed. Damp, newly washed hair hung over her shoulders, flowing down into the perfectly warmed water.

Cora sighed, smiling as she soaked. She lifted her leg and pointed her little foot, wiggling her toes. Through the thin animal hide barriers, she saw other bathers moving about, their shadows cast by the great firepit and lanterns. A couple of village women conversed as they bathed, laughing over something or other. A mother bathed herself and her toddler, the child uttering gibberish. Cora thought it was cute.

She felt at ease being in a real community of people again. Safe. And she was almost reluctant to feel that way, because every time she did, things went to hell. Something, however, told her she’d be safe with the tribe. God, she hoped the Council let her stay. The woman would make the best case she could.

Coralee spent nearly an hour at the bathing house, before pulling on fresh clothes and a long coat that had been given to her. As soon as she exited the steaminess of the place, the chill winter air eased in. She pulled the collar up around her neck and headed for her tipi. Most of the villagers she passed observed her curiously.

She hit the path her tipi flanked and started down, and when she was within sight of the structure, she took a deep breath. Makkonen stood outside, looking as handsome as ever. Coralee wondered how long he’d been waiting for her.

She stopped before him, unable to pull her eyes from his.

Makkonen was taken aback, thinking she looked exquisitely stunning with her whimsical, kinky hair hanging damply over her shoulders and down her back. He’d seen it that way after her bath at his now destroyed cabin. He reached to glide fingers across her cheek.

“So, how long are you going to avoid me, _apaskwaniy_? We need to talk about what happened at the cave.”

“Why? I...I made a mistake.” She nervously raked fingers through her drying hair. Once inside, she would comb, section, and braid it to keep tangling to a minimal.

“Are you sure it _was_ a mistake?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, and I’m sorry about that.” She didn’t believe any of the words that spilled from her lips yet felt compelled to say them. For Declan’s sake.

“I’m not sorry.” He stepped closer.

Cora could feel and smell his heat. She shook her head, both to clear it of his manly enticement and in denial. “Makkonen, I...I just can’t. I won’t hurt Declan.”

“This isn’t about hurting Declan, Coralee. It’s about how _you_ feel.” The mountain man towered over her, eyes burning down. He yearned to pull her close, to hold her in his arms again.

“I care about him very much, and I _will not hurt him_.”

She spun and hurried inside, securing her tipi flap shut.

Makkonen sighed and stalked away. He thought the woman was being stubborn. Sure, he believed she cared about Declan, but he also believed—no, he _knew_—she had stronger feelings for him. Makk wouldn’t give up so easily.

Later that evening after Cora finished her hair, she lay back in her bed of furs, warm and toasty, but unable to fall asleep. She stared up at the cone-shaped ceiling with Makkonen’s words dancing through her mind: _It’s about how _you_ feel._

“God, you crazy girl. What_ are_ you feeling?” She muttered softly, frustrated that she had to choose between two good men. “_Ugh._”

She flopped over to stare at the fire. It was very late when she finally drifted to sleep.

◄☼►

Coralee awoke the next morning to a solid tapping. Someone was knocking on the wooden plank buried in the ground right outside her tipi. She noticed that all the tipis had such a plank. Now she knew what it was for. So people could announce themselves.

“One moment,” she called.

The woman flipped back the furs and blankets, went to unsecure the entry flap, and pulled it back. Declan stood outside with a smile on his face and a small fur-lined sack in his hand.

“May I come in?”

“Yes, of course.” Cora noted that the sun had barely come up. She gasped, and her eyes widened. “Oh goodness! Am I late! I hope I haven’t held up the Council!”

She immediately rushed for her boots, little hands tying back her long braids.

Declan chuckled. “No. You have plenty of time.”

“Whew...okay.” Coralee watched him carefully set the little sack down, then go to one of the storage crates. He pulled out a cast iron pan, a wooden spoon, a plate, and some dried caribou. A smile bloomed on her features. “What are you doing?”

“Thought you might like some breakfast.” Declan went back to the fire and the little sack. He set the pan on a rack at the edges of the flames, getting it hot.

Cora watched him dig into the sack and remove a couple of round light-brown objects. Her eyes brightened. “Eggs! You have chickens here?”

“Yes,” he said, cracking them in the pan. “The tribe raises goats and sheep too.”

“I haven’t had eggs since Montreal.” Her pretty eyes narrowed playfully at him. “I like mine scrambled, by the way, fully cooked, not juicy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mismatched colored eyes lifted to her, lit humorously.

After Cora ate a breakfast of dried meat and fresh scrambled eggs, Declan stepped outside so she could get ready. Now, the two of them approached the Council Chamber.

Makkonen sat on the steps. He stood to greet them. “Mornin’.”

“Good morning, Makkonen,” said Cora, her cheeks heating up at the sight of him.

“I hope you slept well.”

“I did, thank you.”

Declan nodded, smiling. “You don’t have to be here for the hearing, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Makk replied, eyes going to his _apaskwaniy_. “But I wanted to be here to support Coralee. I have my toes crossed in my boots right now in hopes they let you stay.”

The young woman giggled at the mental image. She cleared her throat, attempting to be more serious. “Here’s hoping.”

The wooden door opened, and Mohco stepped out. “Coralee Cassidy, the Council will see you now.”

Cora took a breath and huffed it out. She followed Declan up the short flight of wide steps, inside. Makkonen entered last and shut the door. High windows in the walls allowed pristine, muted morning light in. A small fire burned in the hearth. Across from the entrance, the _okimaw_ and five Council members occupied chairs situated in a semicircle, watching.

“Good morning to you, Coralee Cassidy,” Miyotehew’s crisp words rang out.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Cora replied softly.

Miyotehew laughed, shaking her head. “No need to be so formal. I am the leader of my people, but I do not rule them; I rule beside them. You may call me Miyotehew.”

“Oh, alright.” Cora lifted a nervous smile.

“Please,” the _okimaw_ said, “step before the Council.”

Cora took a breath, looked from Declan to Makkonen, then crossed the room. Her gaze roamed each person on the Council, all their eyes carrying wisdom, knowledge, and experience.

“State your request, Coralee.” Miyotehew nodded at her.

The caramel-skinned beauty took a breath. “Council of the Forest Cree, I formally request to be allowed to stay with your tribe.”

“Your reason?”

“I seek asylum. I want to live in a place that’s safe from those who would like to return me to captivity. I...used to be a slave.”

“I see,” Miyotehew said softly.

“By being allowed to stay with your tribe, I wouldn’t have to worry about being captured ever again. I am more than capable of pulling my own weight. I can work. Hard.” Cora’s brow creased as she passionately spoke. “I know I could fit in good here. And, well...that’s all, I suppose.”

The young woman didn’t know to do, so she bowed her head, eyes on the wooden plank floor. She listened to embers snapping in the hearth.

“Coralee.” Miyotehew waited until their eyes met, then continued. “Thank you. Please wait outside while the Council convenes for a decision.”

“Thank you.”

The _okimaw_ nodded to Mohco, who stood guard beside the door, and he pulled the portal open so Cora, Makkonen, and Declan could leave. He closed it after them. They stopped at the bottom of the steps.

“Well, I think that went pretty good,” said Declan.

“You think so?” Coralee fiddled her clasped hands, straight top teeth hooked over her supple bottom lip, nervously nibbling. “I don’t know. They all looked so serious.”

“They always look like that,” Makkonen entered, smiling. “They’re the Council. It’s their job to be mysterious."

Less than ten minutes later, the door opened and Mohco appeared. “Please, come inside.”

Makkonen and Declan stood by Mohco back by the door, while Cora stopped before the panel of the Cree Council.

Miyotehew rose from her chair. “Coralee Cassidy, it has been decided that your stay with our tribe will be temporary—”

Cora expelled a sigh, and her shoulders sank.

The _okimaw_ continued.

“—Many have passed through seeking asylum, but most are only allowed to stay temporarily because the tribe cannot take everyone. You may remain with us for three fortnights. After that, the Council will reassess its decision. If we feel you have earned your way, you will be able to remain here. If not, you will have to leave.”

Cora nodded. Six weeks. She’d take it. That was a good amount of time to get the Council to see she was more than worthy to join the tribe. She finally lifted her eyes to Miyotehew and the others sitting stoically behind her. “Thank you for letting me stay. I will do everything I can to earn my place here.”

The southern beauty bowed her head, then turned and went for the door, which Mohco had already opened. Once completely outside and down a short distance from the Council Chamber, Cora stopped and gasped a breath. The frustrated tears she’d been holding back since Miyotehew spilled the decision gathered in her eyes. Both Declan and Makkonen were right behind her.

“Coralee, wait,” called the frontiersman. He gently gripped her arm and moved around in front of her.

“Six weeks,” she muttered, wiping tears away. “It’s not much time, but it’s something, so I guess I should be thankful.”

Declan pulled her in for a hug. “It’s enough time to figure out a permanent solution.”

“They gave you leniency, the chance to earn your way after your time is up. It’s not something they do often. They usually set an amount of time, at the end of which visitors have to leave...or just give an outright rejection,” said Makkonen.

Cora cleared her tears. “Well, I’ll count myself lucky then. I want to prove my worth, Declan. Starting today. Get some chores or whatever needs doing lined up for me.”

“Alright.” He nodded.

“Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ll be in my tipi.”

The determined beauty left the mountain man and the frontiersman looking lovingly after her.

◄☼►

Having visited the Lake Walkers to relay Declan’s information to their _okimaw_, Kamenna, Sokanon and Samoset retrieved Dimanche from the River Dweller tribe and returned to Fort James to check on Grace and Mary. They found out that Angus Beecher and his slavecatcher crew hadn’t given Grace problems for her obvious protection of Coralee. That was good news. Declan was concerned Angus would cause trouble.

Now, it was late morning, and Sokanon and Samoset sat in the cover of Grace’s storehouse eating on rations. They perked at the sound of approaching footsteps crunching through snow. Through the single window, they saw Mary coming for the door.

The lovely blond woman entered and shut the door after her. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meal, but you two should come to the Ale House. Now.”

◄☼►

Five minutes later, Sokanon, Samoset, Grace, and Mary observed through one of the tavern’s front windows as a barquentine class ship performed mooring procedures along one of the longer piers. The vessel’s three masts of sails had been raised and stowed. Ropes had been tossed to the crew of two dozen pier workers so they could gradually guide and secure the vessel against the dock.

“Heave! Heave! Heave!” Their voices chanted in unison.

“See that ship?” Grace said. “A week ago, a source”—whom she did _not_ reveal as Father James Coffin—“came through and said it had entered the horn of Hudson Bay, and that there was a high ranking official onboard. Governor Threadwell, appalling man that he is, was there that night and revealed the officer as Lord Benton.”

Sokanon’s face creased angrily. “Why the hell would he come back?”

“Innit obvious?” Grace’s pale eyes reared over to her. “It’s Declan. His Black Wolf Company has done a lot damage to the HBC, cost them a lot of money and a lot of lives. Now they’ve sent their devil back to deal with it.” The Irish beauty shook her head and sighed, though she did see opportunity with the devious man’s return. The opportunity to skim some of those fur profits for herself. “If only he could just...let go and stop testing the HBC.”

“Let go? _Let_ _go?_” Sokanon faced her. “How can he? That monster killed his wife—_my sister_—and his son! You of all people should know how hard it was for him!”

Grace sighed. “I...I do.”

“Then you know Declan will _never_ let go.”

Grace couldn’t retort with anything viable. Sokanon was right. The Cree Irishman would never rest until he got Benton or Benton killed him. Perhaps, the romance he’d developed with Coralee would lay his vengeful beast to rest and allow him to look forward. “So, what’s next?”

Sokanon fixed her eyes on Samoset and Dimanche. “We will leave tomorrow for the tribe. Declan should’ve gotten Coralee there by now. He needs to know Benton’s back. He’ll also want to hear the information we obtained on those HBC outposts in the Undisputed Territory. The furs we take from them will yield a shit-load of silver with the right buyers, enough to more than compensate the Lake Walkers.”

“Okay,” Samoset answered.

Silent but ever watchful, Dimanche nodded.

◄☼►

Later, right before nightfall, young Michael Smyth stepped off the ship with a sack of silver and instructions from Lord Benton to meet a guide who’d take him into the wilderness. Michael was to infiltrate Harp’s operation and get close to him, lead him into Benton’s trap, all for the sake of Clenna Dolan, Michael’s love being held captive across the ocean. Failure to deliver the Cree Irishman wouldn’t be good for either Michael or Clenna. So, of course, he agreed.

Now, the young man occupied a table at the Ale House with Father James Coffin, who’d hurried him away from the scene of a crime, in which a redcoat got knifed by a stranger. Michael still felt the weight of the fat bastard on top of him, dying. No guards came, so he figured he was safe.

Michael swigged on his second cup of ale, the jitteriness almost gone from his hands. His mind lingered on Clenna, pictured her sitting in some grimy English prison cell. No, he had to save her. He _would_.

Beside him, Father Coffin—Michael would use the title loosely, given how _un_holy the man came off—slyly flirted with a pretty barmaid, who constantly shot him down. The young Irishman shook his head and continued to drink, unaware that the barmaid was Grace Emberly’s ‘inside man’, listening and gaining any information she could.

The aforementioned proprietor of the Ale House had stepped way a moment to visit Lord Benton on his ship, informing him Michael Smyth had nothing to do with the redcoat’s death, that he was killed by a random trapper. Benton, then, informed her that he wanted Imogen to work in the pub. His own ‘inside man’. Grace didn’t like it one bit, but she relented. A room would be prepared for the whore, and she’d move in tomorrow and start work.

Grace returned to her tavern and took up post behind the bar, examining and serving patrons.

Behind her, Sokanon observed from the shadows of the storeroom, doing her own assessment. The young Irishman was looking for Declan, and he worked for Benton. She, Samoset, and Dimanche had planned to leave for the tribe at sunrise. It looked like their departure would be postponed.

◄☼►

That same evening, Angus, Colm, and Jean-Philipe returned to Fort James. The trapper hastily parted ways with the slavecatchers, silently hoping to never see them again. After securing a room at Porter’s Inn, Angus and Colm went to the Ale House.

The little bell on the door rattled, making Grace look up. An abrupt frown perched itself over her features, and she stopped wiping the bar top. She watched the two slavecatchers seat themselves, then went over.

“What are you doin’ in here?” she demanded.

Angus calmly met her searing gaze, eyes burning at him and Colm. He sighed. “Miss Emberly, please. I know you and me ain’t on the best of terms, but all we want is a decent meal and some good drinks. The Ale House is the only place in town that offers both.”

Grace’s eyes narrowed at him.

“C’mon, now. You gone make me beg? I assure you my money’s as good as anyone’s.” Angus pulled some silvers from his pouch and set them on the table.

Grace eyed the money, then plucked it up and headed to the bar. She grabbed a couple of cups and a bottle, returning to their table. The auburn-haired woman placed a cup before each man, filled them, and stepped back. She noticed that Colm had been silent since they entered, staring off at nothing. He looked burdened and sad.

“Where’s the rest of your gang?” she pressed. “If I remember correctly, there were four of you, right? Counting the one you thought to hide outside town for lookout duty?”

Angus swigged from his drink. He chuffed a short, grim laugh, not surprised the crafty woman knew so much. “Let’s just say we ran into complications that left them...not so alive.”

“I see.” Using her resources, Grace knew Angus took his men north with a tracker not long ago, undoubtedly looking for Declan and Coralee. She wouldn’t push the subject, though. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ll get ye both some stew.”

“We’d appreciate it,” said Angus.

Her eyes moved between the two men, then to Mary who was finishing up cleaning a table nearby. Grace nodded to the barmaid. Mary returned the nod, moving off for the kitchen.

“And can we get that stew _without_ any of your spittle, doll-face?” Angus called after her.

Mary turned to him. She smiled thinly. “I’ll see what I can do,” the young woman replied sweetly, then disappeared into the back.

Grace almost smiled but remained serious. She addressed Angus and Colm, “I run a respectable establishment here. The food will be clean.”

She slipped back behind the bar, watching and listening. The night carried on. The fiddlers played merry tunes. Mary kept her ears and eyes open as she worked, gathering information; she caught a little about the events up north with Angus’s men, and speculation on the identity of a nameless black half-breed, a mountain of a man. She and Grace knew exactly who he was.

Michael Smyth and Father Coffin drank...and drank...and drank.


	12. Him in the Wolves' Jaws, Her in the Bull's Arms

The last thing Michael remembered was a slow, kind of pleasing spinning sensation, and watching the warmly lit interior of the Ale House revolve around him.

Staggering. Music.

Laughing uncontrollably with Father Coffin.

He puked once. Drank more. Then…

He stirred awake to brightness pushing against his eyelids. Michael’s eyes slowly opened, and he groaned. He was outside face-planted in grass that pushed through a thin layer of snow. The next thing he knew, Father Coffin burst from the trees for him.

“Get up now, lad! We must make haste!” urged the supposed man of the cloth. He grabbed Michael’s hand, pulled him to his feet, and moved to the other side of the clearing.

“Where...am I?”

“Not now!”

_BOOM!_ A gunshot shattered the morning.

Both Michael and Coffin took off into the trees, chased by a couple of men.

“It’s the trapper from last night, innit!” huffed Michael, legs sprinting him forward. “The one whose purse you snatched!”

Father Coffin shrugged, looking over his shoulder. “He may very well be amongst our pursuers, though I believe now is _not_ the time to dally over it. Keep moving!”

◄☼►

Michael hadn’t met up with his guide. That triggered Lord Benton, so he sent Chesterfield to find the young man.

Naturally, Captain Chesterfield’s first instinct was to stop at the Ale House, since he knew its owner was a woman of information. Jonathan realized immediately after meeting Grace Emberly last night, when she came onboard the ship to report Michael’s innocence in the killing of the guard, that she was a fire-headed one he’d have to look out for. She was full of trickery, and he wouldn’t be able to rattle her as easily as he did most other women.

Now, with his hands around Mary’s throat, having terrorized the young woman into spilling whatever she knew about Michael Smyth’s whereabouts, Jonathan sneered. His eyes dropped to the knife Grace firmly dug against his gut, and he released Mary.

He had the information he needed now anyway. Michael was with a shady priest, and they were last seen heading in the direction of Schilling’s Lake.

◄☼►

Michael and Father Coffin eluded the pair of trappers. Now they straggled back towards Fort James. The Irishman noted the sun was past its midpoint in the sky.

“Where the hell are we, Father?”

“In the middle of the woods,” the man replied sarcastically.

“Yeah, I see that. But _where_? How far did we go from Fort James?”

“That’s Schilling’s Lake to the left, and it’s about an hour from town. So…”

“An hour! Christ. How the hell’d we get out here?” Michael ran a hand over his unruly hair.

Father Coffin chuckled, lifting a brow. “Blame it on the brew, isn’t that the saying? You _were_ a bit far-gone last night.”

They didn’t get much further before being intercepted by Captain Chesterfield and a group of soldiers, along with a trapper. The captain was highly irritated that he had to trek out there to find Michael. He was even more annoyed at the talkative priest, whom he threatened into silence.

Chesterfield informed Michael that the priest wasn’t his guide, that the trapper traveling with him and his soldiers was the man he should’ve met up with. Settling on a plan of action, Chesterfield ordered Michael and Father Coffin to be secured, and camp to be erected down at the lake’s shore. Tomorrow, the Irishman would set off into the wild with the trapper to find Declan Harp.

◄☼►

Declan’s crew didn’t just consist of members from his tribe. There were also free men and trappers of French origins. People who were only trying to make a living for themselves in a harsh world, made even more tiresome by the Hudson Bay Company’s tight monopoly on the fur trade.

Those free men were scattered in camps across the land, ready to pick up and follow Declan when necessary. The fact that they were so spread out and blended into the population made it difficult to identify members of the Black Wolf Company. They wore no special uniform, no identifying badges. Hence, they made the perfect soldiers.

Night came. Sokanon, Dimanche, and Samoset had spent the early part of the day rounding up half a dozen BWC members. They hid in the woods by the lake now watching the small redcoat unit camp.

Sokanon ordered them to wait until her signal, and they remained hidden, while she crept up behind Captain Chesterfield. The man stood a short distance from the others pissing in the lake. She bashed him over the head, rendering him unconscious, whistled for her crew, and they attacked.

While the Black Wolf members struck down the redcoats, Sokanon hastened to Michael and Father Coffin. “You two are coming with us.”

Father Coffin huffed miserably, mumbling. “From the devil’s hands and into the flames. Just when I didn’t believe my situation could deteriorate…”

◄☼►

Sokanon and the BWC warriors kept a quick pace into the night. It had been at least two hours since the attack at Schilling’s Lake.

“Who are you?” piped Michael, eyes blazing at Sokanon’s back.

No answer.

“Where are you taking us?” he prompted again.

Still, no answer.

“Michael,” said Father Coffin lowly, “those are very viable questions; however, I think it would be best to still your tongue.”

Michael smirked, brushing his advice aside. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Sokanon spun and got directly in his face, making Michael flinch, but not back down. Her words expelled in a dry hiss. “You need to _shut up!_ You wanted to find Declan Harp, and now you will. Keep walking.”

Father Coffin’s eyes widened. “D-Declan Harp? You’re taking us to Declan Harp? Oh, Christ in heaven…” He crossed over his forehead and chest and kissed his crucifix.

The BWC warrior behind him pushed at his back, urging him and Michael forward.

Sokanon, Declan’s trusty second-in-command, led the group north. Before the sun fully rose, they made it to another Black Wolf Company camp. A larger one. There, she outfitted both Michael and the priest with outdoor layers. Furs and leathers. It would be even colder where she was taking them. By late morning, they were on the move again. Her, Samoset, Dimanche, three French trappers, and the two prisoners. They headed northwest towards Forest Cree territory, a trip that would take them about two weeks.

◄☼►

The following morning, Captain Chesterfield stumbled back to Fort James and made his way to the Ale House. There was something about Grace Emberly that drew him, conniving bitch that she was. He just knew he couldn’t go back to Lord Benton yet. Not without a solid story. There wasn’t much to tell but the truth anyway. His troop was attacked, the boy taken. Captain Chesterfield was the only survivor.

After Grace applied a shabby dressing to his head, stating it needed to look like he’d done it himself and _not_ gone to her for help first, the captain reported back to Benton. Of course, the vile old man was disappointed and assumed Michael lost to the “wolves”. Both men suspect the Black Wolf Company, Declan’s people, of the attack. They probably got wind of Michael’s status as a spy and took him.

The disreputable British lord’s eyes narrowed at Chesterfield from a sneering visage. “Let’s hope they don’t kill him, and he’s allowed to infiltrate as planned, for your sake.”

Benton stormed from his ship stateroom to deal with Governor Threadwell, whom he’d apprehended moments before Chesterfield showed up. Chesterfield frowned at the old man’s back and followed.

Not long after that, Threadwell’s paunchy corpse swung from a beam in the cargo hold of the ship, dispatched. Lord Benton took over as governor of Fort James.

◄☼►

Colm Mallory wasted no time. The day after he and Angus got back to Fort James, he joined up with a group heading down to Montreal. He was going back home where he belonged and never should’ve left. As he trekked for the south road out of Fort James, he looked over his shoulder and waved one last time to Angus, who watched after him. Colm hoped the determined man got what he was after, but he suspected Angus would never leave the north alive.

Oh well.

Angus turned and faced the gradually waking township. It was late in the morning. Now, he was all alone. His hand gripped the slavecatcher badge around his neck and yanked it free. He tossed it aside. There were no rules, only boundaries. Whatever he did, he _would_ have Declan Harp’s head. It wasn’t even about the slave girl anymore. Not for Angus. Declan was the prized game. The big son of a bitch thought he was crafty, had offered a challenge. Angus had to kill him.

First, he needed reinforcements to go further north.

He tilted his head back and forth, stretching his neck, then started for the Ale House. Grace didn’t like him, but she’d tolerated his and Colm’s presence the previous evening. Maybe she’d allow him to frequent the place, as a paying customer of course, so he could scope out information.

Angus got within a hundred feet of the tavern and stopped. He watched as a group of British soldiers moved from the direction of the pier. One man stood out, leading them. Older, distinguished, and he looked mean as hell. Whoever he was, Angus knew he’d be the one to talk to.

Lord Archibald Benton and his group paid little attention to the slavecatcher and townsfolk as they marched by, on their way to occupy the governor’s manor.

◄☼►

It was Cora’s second day at the tribe, and she wasted no time immersing herself in work. Anything to show she could pull her weight and be useful. Naturally, the chores assigned to her were domestic. It wasn’t like she could hunt or fight. As requested, Declan promptly supplied a list of work she’d be suited for.

Cooking, baking, laundry, milking goats, tending to the chickens, and a few other things.

It was mid-morning. Coralee currently worked in the laundry area with a dozen other women, each of them sitting before tubs of linens soaking in warm water. She dragged a shirt up and down over a washboard-type thing, singing to herself.

The other women must’ve liked her songs, since none of them complained, some of them even smiling.

Cora sighed and continued to work happily. When she finished the shirt, she tossed it in a wicker basket with the other things she’d washed, all of which would be hung on racks and lines to dry. She grabbed another item from the water and started scrubbing.

The basket containing her clean clothes abruptly flipped over, sending the laundry to the ground.

Cora jumped up, whirling around. “Hey!”

Piwan stared coldly at her. She’d kicked the basket.

“I’m not scared of you. You can’t bully me!”

Piwan’s eyes narrowed and she made to step in, maybe give the petite woman a shove.

Before she could, one of the other women rushed between them, speaking in Cree. “Stop it, Piwan. Everyone knows you love Makkonen...and everyone _but_ you knows he thinks of you as a sister. He loves this woman.” Yes, word was spreading quickly through the village regarding the mountain man’s feelings for Coralee, not that he bothered to hide them, with the way he looked at her. “Accept that and leave her be.”

Visibly hurt, hard tears in her eyes, Piwan rushed off.

Coralee frowned after her. She sighed and turned to the woman who intercepted. The only word she understood in all of that was ‘Makkonen’. “Thank you.”

“_Tawaw._” The woman smiled.

“_Tawaw_,” Cora repeated softly. “That must mean ‘you’re welcome’.”

The Cree woman switched to English, which was a little broken but understandable. “I am Lataka.”

“It’s very nice to meet you. It’s good to have a friend here other than Declan and Makkonen.”

“Yes,” Lataka tapped her chest. “I am friend.”

She helped Cora gather the tipped laundry, even taking part of it to rewash, since she was almost done with her portion anyway.

◄☼►

Makkonen’s affections for Coralee.

Declan caught wind of it spreading through the village. The village wasn’t a huge place and hearsay tended to travel like wild brush fire. Being the son of the _okimaw_ put Makk under special scrutiny, though. Whenever anything of interest involving him happened, everyone tended to know. Now, most knew of their Iron Bull’s love for the newcomer. Since he’d never shown such romantic interests before, it was exciting news.

Declan sensed Makkonen’s attraction to Coralee long before they reached the village, before they even left the cabin. How could he _not_ like her? Both men had barely shared words since they returned a couple of days ago. Each knew the other loved Cora, and both wanted to give her time and space to make her decision. There had been a few instances in their youth where the Wolf and the Bull favored the same girl, and she’d pick one or the other.

It was different with Coralee. She wasn’t some temporary summer trollop for two teenage boys to race over, seeing which one could get into her underclothes first. She wasn’t a notch on a belt...and the Wolf and the Bull weren’t boys anymore, hadn’t been for a long time. Coralee was mate material, and both men wanted her as such.

Declan believed Coralee would choose him since she’d known him longer, had a closer bond with him. He would do what he could to entice her, which was why he’d found her earlier after she finished her chores and invited her to his tipi for dinner.

He was finishing up the chicken and vegetable hash when someone knocked softly on the plank outside. He quickly stirred the mixture, then removed the skillet from the cooking rack and went to pull back the flap.

Declan’s gaze roamed Cora’s lovely face, framed by the robust fullness of her long, kinky curls. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She smiled up at him, dimples deepening in her cheeks.

“You look beautiful. You always do.”

She blushed. “Thanks.”

“Please, come in.”

Declan stepped aside, and Cora entered. She scanned the interior of his quarters, thinking it to be very fitting for him. There was a big tousled bed of furs. Weapons laid out on a low table—knives, clubs, tomahawks. Different sized dreamcatchers dangled from beams setup in one area. Overall, the place was very Declan Harp.

“I hope you’re hungry,” came his deep voice over her shoulder.

Cora turned as he moved around her. She smiled at the spread of food. Flat bread, blackberries, and a pan of...something. “What did you make?”

“My famous chicken hash.” He grinned, then gestured. “Go ahead and sit.”

“Okay.” Cora removed her coat and settled. She was dressed natively in a tunic and pants that were tucked down into her boots.

Declan sat beside her. He reached for something wrapped in cloth and handed it over. “Before we eat, I have something for you.”

Surprised, she took the gift and set it in her lap. Slowly, sending a smile at him, Cora revealed the item. She sucked in a gasp, and her eyes lit. “Oh, Declan…”

The young woman held the slingshot up, rotating it to see it from every angle. It was carved from a very dark wood, sanded to perfect smoothness, with custom beadwork on the grip.

The frontiersman watched her observe the weapon, pleased with her reaction. “A man in the village makes them. I figure it’ll help you in your hunting endeavors.”

He chuckled, and so did she.

“It’s so beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome, Coralee. Once you get more situated with your routine and chores, I’ll take you to the training yards.”

“That would be great.” She stroked her finger over the weapon, then set it aside. “Well, now I have to think of a good gift for you.”

“No, you don’t. It was gift enough seeing that smile of yours light the room when you unwrapped the slingshot.”

It was comfortably warm inside the tipi, and it seemed to Cora that the interior had heated slightly. Or perhaps it was the way Declan watched her, with a sultry blaze in his eyes. Not wanting the silence between them to become too awkward, Declan fixed her a plate, then himself.

Cora smiled and tasted the chicken dish. Her brow perked, and she nodded. “It’s good.”

“Thanks. It’s pretty much the only thing I cook.”

“Oh, surely there are other things.”

“Hm, well…” Declan said in between bites, “...yes. But nothing that tastes as good as this.”

Coralee giggled. “That’s alright. As long as I’m around, you’ll always have a decent meal.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

They talked casually as they ate, with Declan asking her how she was settling in. Cora told him she was getting along well, that the work felt rewarding. She was confident that when the end of her six weeks came, the Council would vote in her favor and let her remain.

Now, the two of them sat side by side, done with dinner and a dessert of sweet blackberries. Declan was close enough that Cora felt the heat he emitted, smelled his unique scent. It was very different from Makkonen’s, yet no less intriguing.

There came the silence again.

Declan took a breath. “Coralee, I want to make my intentions towards you clear. I have grown to care about you very much, as I’m sure you know.”

“Yes,” she replied in a small voice, her gaze steady on his face.

“I...would like us to be more than friends. Closer.”

“Oh…”

Closer.

And closer he leaned, until his mouth finally met hers, adhering to her lips with demanding, gentle authority. When Coralee didn’t shy away, Declan took it as a sign to press forward. His hand cupped her small face, then his arms linked tenderly around her. The next thing Cora knew, she was under him, his large, solid frame draped partially over her, her small hands gripping his chest.

Her eyes fluttered and she moaned wantonly. As good and familiar and safe as he felt on top of her, it didn’t feel completely _right_.

She started trembling, nervous and unsure but excited. Also, she felt his body responding, the hardness in his pants. He slowly thrusted against her as they kissed, making that part of him rub along her hip. The whole experience was new and erotic for her, and the center of her womanhood tingled and moistened.

Though she had gone that far with him, Declan knew she was scared; she shivered under him. He pulled back and stroked her cheek, then removed himself. “I’m sorry, Coralee. It’s just...you excite me,” he droned thickly.

He gathered slow, deep breaths, deluging the extreme desire she roused in him.

Coralee sat up, blushing something furious. “You don’t have to apologize. I didn’t _not_ like it.”

They watched each other intensely, the sensual heat between them so thick they could almost taste it.

Cora cleared her throat and reached for her slingshot. “I...should get back to my tipi.”

“Alright.” Declan nodded. “I’ll walk you.”

“No, no, you don’t have to, Declan. I can manage. Goodnight,” she whispered, then left, still very much set aflame by the desire he stirred in her.

Declan groaned, sighed, and fell back on the furs. He stared up at the ceiling. “Well, that was a stupid move.”

◄☼►

Lord Benton was a busy, high profile man. It took Angus a couple of days to get an audience with him. He followed Lieutenant Vanstone through the first floor of the large governor’s residence, examining the art on the walls, the fancy decor.

Vanstone reached a set of double doors and pushed them in. He stiffened to attention. “Lord Benton, I present Mr. Angus Beecher.”

Benton sat stoically behind his desk. Mid-morning light filtered in through sheer curtains, casting long shadows over the wooden floor. The hardened old man waved a hand to send Vanstone on his way.

The lieutenant backed from the room, shutting the doors after him.

Angus met Benton’s unwavering stare, the older man’s piercing blue eyes peering down his large, angular nose. He gestured to the chair across from him. “Please, have a seat.”

The slavecatcher sat.

“So, what is it you’d like to talk about, Mr. Beecher.”

Right to the point. Angus liked that. “Something I believe is near and dear to you. Declan Harp.”

Benton’s brow rose vaguely. A sign of his piqued interest. He leaned back and formed a steeple with his hands. “Yes, well, it’s easy to see why he would be of concern to the Hudson Bay Company, continuously bogging our operations. But why is he of interest to you?”

“He’s caused me a lot of trouble too,” Angus said, eyes following Benton when he got up, turned to his liquor station, and poured a few swallows of brandy into a snifter. He set the glass before Angus, who continued. “Thanks. Me and four men came up from the south looking for a woman, a runaway slave. We tracked her to Montreal. Before we could nab her, that red sumbitch took her, led us on a chase all the way the fuck up here.”

“I see.”

“He killed one of my men back in Montreal. Lost two more a week ago when we encountered him out by Savant Lake. Turns out he had back-up, looked like a black half-breed. Big as a damn house.”

As Lord Benton listened, a sour smile posed itself. “Ah, yes. Makkonen Hightower. Half negro, half Cree. He and Declan grew up together; they’re like brothers. Where you find one, you’re almost sure to find the other.”

“Well, I’m sure it was him who lopped Shane’s head clean the hell off, rest his soul. My fourth man up and went back south, and I’m the only one left.”

Angus took the snifter and downed its contents in one swig.

“This is all somewhat interesting, if minorly so, but what does it have to do with me?” Benton asked.

“I need your help. I’d like to go after Harp, hunt him down.”

“And you want me to provide you the men for this task.”

“Yes,” Angus answered.

Lord Benton chuckled. “And just how do you propose to find him? He continues to elude my attempts at capture. Even now, I have a spy out there somewhere with orders to infiltrate the Black Wolf Company and deliver Harp to me. At least, I hope young Michael is still with us.”

“I can find him. He’s up in Forest Cree land.

“No one has ever gone looking for Declan Harp further than the Undisputed Territory. To do so would be, for lack of a better word, _stupid_. The terrain is harsh. Too harsh to support a large army. Not to mention the sheer number of traps I’m sure are hidden throughout their land.”

“Lord Benton, sir, please. I’m good for this. Tracking is what I do, and I’ve faced Harp, one on one. All I need is ten men, and I could bring that fucker’s head back to you on a platter,” Angus gruffed, his blood starting to boil at the thought of detaching Declan’s head from his body.

The English lord’s eyes roamed over the slavecatcher. He found him brash but determined. It was always refreshing to cross paths with someone who loathed Declan Harp as much as he did. He finally shook his head. “No.”

“But, sir, I—”

“I said _no_, Mr. Beecher. Now, good day.”

Rejected and dismissed, Angus rose from his chair, spun about, and exited.

◄☼►

The day after dinner with Declan, Cora moved casually through the village. It was late morning, close to noon, and she’d finished her chores. Now, buried in her innermost thoughts, she mulled over what happened with Declan. She cared for him very much, but she wasn’t sure if she could be more than friends. As she laid under him last night, wrapped in his heat and charmed by his romantic advances, all Cora could think about was Makkonen.

She headed to his tipi now; it was easy to find out where he lived. When she reached it, she took a couple of breaths and knocked on the plank. A few moments later, the flap pulled back. Makkonen filled the entrance, a scuffed mirror in one hand. His shirt ties were undone, revealing the top of his toned chest.

“Coralee.” He was surprised to see her, his chiseled features igniting a dashing smile. “Does this mean you’re no longer avoiding me?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I...I guess I wasn’t sure how to process what happened.”

“Wanna come in?”

She nodded, and he stepped aside so she could enter, closing the flap after her. They sat around the fire.

After a bout of silence, Cora cleared her throat and started. “Makkonen, I don’t regret kissing you. As a matter of fact, I very much enjoyed it.”

“Mm. Me too.” He was watching her hotly.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I...am interested in you. I really like you. But I need to take things slowly because I’m still figuring stuff out.” Her slender hands twiddled in her lap.

Makkonen nodded, listening. He reached for one of her hands, stroking his thumb across her smooth skin. “I care about you. More than you know. We can go as slow as you want, _apaskwaniy_.” His eyes skirted away in thought. “What about Declan?”

Cora closed her eyes a moment. “I really don’t want to hurt him, which is why I need to move slowly.”

“I don’t want to hurt him either, Coralee, but you realize the longer you take to tell him, the harder it will be on him.”

“Yes,” she said softly, “I will talk with him when the time is right.”

“Alright.”

Cora took a huge breath, feeling that she’d relieved a lot of the pressure she put on herself regarding the Bull and the Wolf. While it was going to be difficult to tell Declan, at least she’d decided between the two men in her life. There was no doubt that Declan stirred her desire, but the connection she shared with Makkonen was intrinsic. He made her feel more warmth, fulfillment, and security in that one kiss than Declan did with his whole body.

And so that was it. Makkonen was the one she wanted. Being near him and with him felt right, as if they’d already been together before, in another life if such a thing were possible. A very special pairing with an unbreakable bond. She knew he felt it too.

“Are you okay?” the mountain man inquired.

Cora bobbed a quick nod. Her eyes shifted to the mirror in his other hand, and she smiled. “What were you doing in here?”

“Trimming my beard, or at least trying to.” He chuckled richly. “Been meaning to get some kind of stand to put this mirror on so I can use both hands.”

“Here,” she said, positioning on her knees beside him, “let me help.”

Makkonen raised a brow when she grabbed a nearby strip of hide, gathered his long, soft, dark waves in a bun atop his head, and tied it off. Then she took up the scissors. His expression shifted to playful skepticism. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Coralee chuffed and smacked his arm. “I assure you, I have trimmed a beard before.”

The man sat still while she snipped at his facial hair. He smiled at her adamant expression, her brow furrowed with concentration, gorgeous eyes roaming slowly over her work.

Cora pinched a coarse tuft on his chin and angled the sheers to remove it.

As soon as she closed the scissors, Makkonen decided to give her a fright: “AH!”

The young beauty jumped and squealed, and her face immediately cringed in horror. Her free hand covered her mouth, tears forming in her eyes, shoulders rising and falling with quickened, scared breaths.

Makk burst into laughter.

Cora’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. She punched his chest. “What is wrong with you! That wasn’t funny!”

“Yes, it was. The look on your face.”

She hit him again. “No, it wasn’t, Makkonen! I thought I snipped you!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” he said, laughter still tapering off. “I won’t do it again. I promise.”

Cora’s eyes narrowed faintly, and she smirked at him. “I should leave you like this, all patchy-bearded.”

He grinned, then pouted. “Aw. C’mon, _apaskwaniy_. It was just a little fun.”

“You better not do that again.”

“I won’t, my sweet. Promise.” The handsome man tilted his head and went still so she could continue.

His sweet. Cora loved the sound of it. As much as she made a show of scolding him for giving her that scare, little moments like that only drew them even closer together. The joking and flirting.

She met his eyes, smiled shyly, then commenced trimming his beard. Five minutes later, she announced, “Almost finished. Just a little more.”

Makkonen rubbed over his face.

Cora smacked his hand away. “Will you just hold still?”

“Not too much, woman. It’s cold out, and I’d like to keep my face warm.”

She chimed a short giggle. “Oh, hush. There’ll be plenty left.”

A few moments later, after a couple more snips, Cora handed him the mirror.

“Hm. Nice.” Makkonen ran his hand across his freshly trimmed beard, checking his reflection.

“Told you I know what I’m doin’.”

“Yes, you sure did.” He set the mirror aside, then reached to skim his hand back through her thick locks, so soft and fragrant. “How about I clean up these trimmings, then we grab some lunch.”

“Sounds good to me.” Cora handed him the scissors. She shifted to the other side of the firepit so he could see to the small mess. Meanwhile, she scanned the inside of his tipi more closely. It wasn’t much different from Declan’s. Large bed of furs. Some small crates of goods. Weapons laid out. Makkonen didn’t have a collection of dreamcatchers, though.

After he cleaned up, they shared lunch in his quarters, and _only_ lunch. Cora meant it when she said she wanted to move slow with him. So, after they ate and talked for a little, she pecked him an innocent kiss on the lips and hurried off.

Makkonen stood in the opening of his tipi until she moved from sight, smiling after her. She truly was _his apaskwaniy_ now. She’d chosen him, and he would do whatever necessary to keep her, including wait _however_ long it took for her to feel comfortable enough to progress to the next level of their relationship.


	13. Clash of the Bull's Horns to the Wolf's Claws

Little more than a week passed. Coralee had gotten into a good rhythm that allowed her to finish her tribal contribution work quickly, leaving the rest of the day to do whatever she wanted. As a former slave, it was no big deal for her to churn out work. The difference was that she wouldn’t be threatened with a beating if she didn’t work fast or hard enough or if she didn’t work from sunup to sundown. And her time was just that.

_Hers!_

It was so great with the tribe, being able to exist and live to do what she pleased. Yes, she was expected to pull her own weight, and that was nothing. Every day, she tended to her chores with a smile, humming and singing. Some of the other women thought it odd that she worked so diligently and with such a chipper attitude. They, however, had never lived in chains.

The only thing bogging her down was her romantic situation. She still hadn’t found the right time to tell Declan about her and Makkonen. She’d been spending time with them both and feeling guilty most of the time. Now, she and Declan headed back from the training yards after a nice hour of slingshot practice. They crossed the village square for the dining lodge, where some of last night’s meal was being served for lunch.

“You really are getting good with that thing,” Declan said, smiling down at her.

Cora grinned up, shrugging. “What can I say? I have a great teacher.”

The frontiersman stopped to gaze lovingly at her. Then, he took her little hands in his. “Don’t try to give me all the credit. You really picked up the technique fast.”

Cora swallowed the lump in her throat. God, she hoped he didn’t try to kiss her. As much as she knew she’d enjoy it, she’d have to deny him.

Declan didn’t attempt a kiss. He already believed he’d been too potent for her the night they shared dinner. He really hoped she opened more to him soon. His eyes skirted sideways, and his smile partially evaporated.

Makkonen headed towards them.

Coralee gently pulled her hands from Declan’s and pushed her hair back over her shoulders. Her eyes went between both men, each silently watching the other.

Makk finally smiled at her. “Hey, Coralee. I just got back from hunting, thought I would grab something to eat. Want to join me?”

“We’re going to get something now,” Declan said stiffly.

The southern beauty saw the tension. She lifted a smile at Makkonen. “You can join us if you want.”

Declan silently fumed. He didn’t want his tribe-brother to accompany them, not when he was trying to solidify his relationship with Cora. He wanted her to himself.

And Makkonen had no desire to share her attention either. Holding to his smile, he shook his head. “No, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll probably just grab something quick and take it back to my tipi. Maybe we could meet up later?”

“Yes, I’d like that.”

“Alright, I’ll catch you then.”

The mountain man moved off.

Declan stared after him, then turned to Cora. His words were soft but adamant when he asked, “Why would you meet up with him later?”

Cora chuckled a bit. “Because he’s my friend too.”

“I know, but—”

“What? I can’t have any male friends but you, is that it?”

“Well, no, that’s not what I meant.”

Coralee leaned to bump him with her shoulder, features shrouded in humor. “Oh? What _did_ you mean?”

Declan knew she was poking fun at him. “You know he likes you, right? A _lot_.”

“He’s harmless.” She linked her arm with his and started them for the dining lodge again, hoping to dissolve the whole conversation and steer it in another direction. “Let’s go eat. I’m starvin’!”

Keen on her strategy, Declan sighed and dropped it. He'd known Cora was attracted to Makkonen since the day he caught her watching the other man wash up. But physical attraction was one thing, while the attraction of the heart was another. Declan was confident that any love Cora harbored fell mostly on him. He just had to be adamant.

Also, he thought it was high time he and Makkonen had a talk about the woman between them.

◄☼►

The following morning, Makkonen went to the archery range. He’d been using a bow since he was nine, and years of practice allowed him to master it. The only person he thought offered him true competition was Sokanon. They practiced together regularly when both were around the village, which kept him sharply honed.

At this time, practice let his mind linger on something other than Coralee, since he knew he couldn’t be with her all the time. She had chores and work to do, and he didn’t want to smother her. Though he had no objections to spending every waking moment with the woman. As she wished, they’d been taking things slow. Makkonen couldn’t wait to meet up with her in a couple of hours for lunch.

He drew his arm back, aiming down the line at one of the far targets. The arrow flew and struck almost dead center.

“Not bad,” came a voice behind him.

Makk slowly turned to face Declan. “Thanks.”

“Let me.” The Cree Irishman reached for the bow, and Makkonen handed it over. Declan plucked an arrow from the quiver on his tribe-brother’s back and got into position, bow raised, arm drawn. “We need to talk about Coralee.”

Declan’s arrow swooned through the air. It landed in the same target as Makkonen’s last shot, but nowhere near the center.

Makkonen took the bow, smoothly tugged an arrow free, and aimed down the line. “What’s there to talk about?”

His arrow soared, puncturing the target right beside Declan’s.

Declan took the bow, readied an arrow, and aimed. “I want you to stay away from her.” He released the arrow, and once again it hit rather far from the center of the target.

Makkonen saw this coming. He took his bow, aimed an arrow, and fired. It landed beside Declan’s second shot. Clearly, he was toying with his tribe-brother, chasing his arrows. The mountain man turned to him. “I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can. It’s easy. You just stop spending so much time with her.”

“It’s not going to happen, Declan. I love her.”

Declan glared at him. “Obviously. But she’s with me.”

“Does _she_ know that?”

“What the hell does that even mean?” The frontiersman stepped closer, his irritation beginning to mutate into anger.

“You know what it means,” said Makkonen. “Has Coralee made it official with you? Has she actually _chosen_ you?”

Now, Declan was fully riled. His face had become a hard mask of infuriation. He breathed deeply and slowly. Cora hadn’t declared her love for him yet, but that didn’t matter. She would one day, Declan knew it. “This is typical of you, you know that? Taking interest in a woman that belongs to another.”

Makkonen chuffed. “What are you talking about? I’ve never tried to come between you and anyone you showed interest in.”

“It’s just like when we were younger. A girl liked me, so you stepped in and got her to focus on you.”

The mountain man chuckled dryly and shook his head. “Are you talking about Nipihki? Wow. That was ages ago, and we were boys. It’s not my fault she liked me more.”

Back when Makkonen was sixteen and Declan was seventeen, the spring visits were underway. It was a time when members of both the Forest Cree and River Dwellers traveled between tribes to mingle, solidify relations, commune, and so on. Young Declan and Makkonen got to go to the River Dweller tribe for a couple of weeks. While there, Declan met a girl, Nipihki. He liked her a lot, but it turned out she liked Makkonen...and he was the one that “got” her. Notch on a belt. The young men were at odds for a little after that.

“You’re right. We were boys, and we had our games. But this isn’t a fucking game to me. I love Coralee.” Declan closed his eyes a moment. He opened them after he chipped some of the anger away. “Makkonen, you can have any other woman. Please, leave her.”

Makkonen heaved a great sigh. Declan had no idea how hard this was for him. Makk didn’t want to hurt his friend and had not the heart to tell him that their sweet lady had already made a decision. He’d leave that to her. “I’m sorry, but I won’t back down.”

“Neither will I.” Declan slowly scanned him, then forcefully shouldered by.

Makkonen didn’t turn to watch him leave. He felt extremely bad. Simultaneously, he believed Declan needed to pay more attention to the signs. If he really just took a look at the whole picture and not the parts he wanted to see, he’d already know there was little chance Coralee would ever be his.

◄☼►

After they ate lunch, Makkonen and Cora walked through the village talking. The man looked over at her.

“On my way to the archery range this morning, I heard a couple people talking about something that happened last week.” He tugged on a half-smile, brow easing upward. “Seems you’re becoming known as _Sohkeyimow_ around the village. It means ‘she stands brave’. What happened with you and Piwan?”

“Really? I have a tribal name?” Cora shrugged, brushing it off with a smile of her own. “It wasn’t anything serious. She kicked over my laundry basket, and I stood up to her, told her she couldn’t bully me.”

“What?” Makkonen frowned. “I’ll have a talk with her.”

“No, Makkonen. Don’t. It won’t make anything better, since she’ll probably think I ran tattling to you.” They reached a path on the western side of the village that disappeared into the foliage and pines. “I guess I understand why she’s upset. She’s in love with you and has been for a long time. Then, I show up....”

“That doesn’t matter.” He took her little hand in his when he was sure they’d moved from sight. “She has no right to harass you. She’s acting like a child.”

Cora chuckled, tugging some wayward curls behind her ear. Her hair was pulled up and away from her face, tumbling down her back. “Just leave it be, big man. I can handle her. I mean, she can’t hate me forever, right?”

He chuffed and made a face. “Hm. I dunno. She can be very stubborn.”

The couple followed the trail, gradually winding up, until they reached a place where they had to climb ten or so feet up a steep rock face. Makkonen went first, every handhold, niche, and ledge familiar to him. Once at the top, he didn’t climb all the way up. He held his hand out to Cora.

“What’s up there?” she asked, bright eyes fixed on him.

“You’ll see.” Makk smiled warmly at her. “It’s a place I’ve been coming to since I was a kid. C’mon, _apaskwaniy_. I won’t let you fall.”

Coralee finally grabbed his hand, and Makkonen slowly pulled. She didn’t have to do much but find the foot holds, while he used his strength to lift her. When they were side by side, he supported her so she could climb fully up.

The young woman smiled widely. “Goodness! What a view!”

Makkonen finished his ascent and stood beside her. “Yes, it is.”

They were atop a wide, flat rock mantle. Out to the north was a vast forest shrouded in the snows of winter, and the river wove between the trees. To the west were more rocky canyons and crags. Cora slowly turned for a complete panoramic view. Behind them was the village down on the plateau, large and bustling.

She faced Makkonen, giving a dimply smile. “So, you’ve brought me to your secret spot?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s mine; others climb up here sometimes. But it is my most favorite place in the world, and I wanted you to see it.”

“Well, it’s…” Coralee breathed a sigh, “...certainly something. Thank you for sharing.”

The mountain man watched her tenderly, eyes roaming her beautiful face. “I would share everything I have with you, if you let me.”

Cora swallowed the lump in her throat. She was lost in the deepness of his eyes again, wrapped in the heat he emitted. There was a lot of meaning in what he said, his willingness to ‘share’ with her. She needed to change the subject.

The woman touched to the place on his rawhide coat that used to have a knife hole. It had been patched and cleaned of his blood. “How’s this doing?”

Makkonen shrugged. “Fine. I can barely even tell I was stabbed. Doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“Good. I’m happy to hear that.”

She stared up at him, neither willing to break eye contact yet.

Then the drone of a flute came from somewhere down in the village. The melody was soothing and captivating. Full of life.

Cora’s eyes raked slowly, searching. “Who’s playing that? It’s very lovely.”

“I’m not sure. Could be one of the healers. My people are very spiritual. It’s a belief that music can drive sickness and pain away, so it’s not uncommon to hear the songs of the shamans at times,” Makkonen explained. “Or it could just be a random citizen.”

“I see,” she replied, nodding. Cora linked her arm around his and pulled close, her face against him.

They enjoyed the view together for a while, then he spoke, “My mother’s father was a great man, did a lot to serve the tribe during his time as _okimaw_, as did his father before him.”

“So, it’s a family thing, then? Being the leader of the tribe?”

Makkonen shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be. There’s no rule stating such. It just so happened that my family has held the position a lot. My mother’s great-grandfather would’ve served as the _okimaw_, but never got the chance. He was killed by white men from the other side of the world. Nords. We call them _kiwetin_. The north men. He was on a trade mission in the far east, on the other side of the Hudson Bay, visiting a settlement on the shore of the Atlantic. Survivors told of a couple of ships landing in the night, manned by _kiwetin_. They attacked the settlement, killed my mother's great-grandfather and many others, looted, pillaged, raped.”

Cora listened intently to the rich, deep tones of his voice as he shared the immersive history of his family.

“My axe is a replica of one carried by a _kiwetin_ warrior who was a member of a raiding party that came into our land many generations ago, long before the English arrived. It was passed down and given to me when I turned sixteen.” Makkonen chuffed a short laugh. “I could barely pick it up at that age, not quite big or strong enough yet.”

Cora took his hand. “But you certainly grew, hm? You can swing that thing as easily as you can walk now.”

The mountain man laughed. “Yeah.”

He kissed the top of her head, and they enjoyed the view a little longer, before he took her back down into the village because she got cold.

◄☼►

The stories that circulated about Declan Harp were filled with ripe images of macabre. Simply shocking and ghastly. One rumor even said he’d skinned a man alive, severed his genitals, stuffed them in his mouth, and strung the body up on a tree like a Christmas ornament. Honestly, most of the things people reported about the leader of the Black Wolf Company weren’t close to the truth.

While other things were very true.

Such as Declan’s extreme abhorrence for the Hudson Bay Company and invasive redcoats. He’d done many unspeakable things to them. These were the things that concerned Father James Coffin. He counted the sunrises since he and Michael had been taken by the woman Sokanon and her people. He’d learned their names by listening to them talk.

Twelve days.

They were deep into the north now.

At least, Father Coffin thought, he and Michael hadn’t been tortured and killed yet. Surprisingly, they’d been treated rather well. Given food rations and water regularly. The first couple of days of the journey had been rough for the holy man, since his body went on the crave for a drink. Before the end of the first week, he felt back on track.

It was late in the day now, and the group came to a quaint clearing tucked against a rising rock face.

Sokanon’s scrutinizing gaze swept everyone. “Let’s set up camp. Declan should be here in the morning.”

Everyone nodded their understanding.

After they erected camp, Sokanon slipped off silently. Forest Cree scouts were out in the area, and she needed one of them to carry a message up to the village.

◄☼►

Now, it was Declan’s turn to watch enviously from the outside.

He stood by the wall in the dining lodge watching Coralee and Makkonen chat and dine at one of the tables. This night was one of festivities. _Awasis Watikwan_. The Celebration of the Child. Every month the village threw a big party for the children, as they were the most prized asset of the Cree nation. The future leaders, warriors, mothers, and fathers that would continue traditions and keep the tribe strong.

A band of drummers and flutist churned out music. Children from barely able to talk up to those on the cusp of adulthood laughed and ran around, playing, eating sweet bread dessert, and showing off the masks they’d made.

A couple of little boys, age seven or so, ran into Declan. He chuckled, ruffled their hair, and sent them on their way. Then, he went back to watching Makkonen steadily attempt to steal Coralee away from him. Declan sighed heavily.

Mohco entered the lodge, scanned for a moment, and found his half-Irish friend. He hurried over. “Declan, I received word from a scout that Sokanon and some Black Wolves are in the area, camped up from the river. He’s standing by to take you to them in the morning. Seems they’ve brought a couple of prisoners you’re going to want to meet.”

Declan nodded. Just what he needed. A welcome distraction. “Thanks, Mohco.”

Mohco strode away.

The frontiersman’s gaze fixed on Coralee and Makkonen, and he headed over.

“Declan, join us!” beamed Cora.

He lifted a soft smile. “No, thanks. I just stopped by to talk to Makkonen.”

Makk focused on him. “Yes?”

“Sokanon is camped below, probably has Samoset and Dimanche with her, as well as a couple of prisoners. I’m heading down tomorrow. I want you with me.”

Makkonen nodded without hesitation. “Of course.”

“Meet me at the main trail before dawn.” The frontiersman was irritated with his tribe-brother, but he wouldn’t let his feelings overcome the importance of readiness. Makkonen was one of the best warriors in the village, and if there was going to be trouble, Declan needed him there. Also, it put some distance between the mountain man and Coralee, if only for a little while.

“Okay.”

Declan’s eyes and voice lost their edge, and his whole demeanor eased up when he looked to Coralee again. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

The young woman smiled up at him. “Yes, very much. The kids are so cute!”

“Yeah, they are,” Declan said. “Once I get back to the village tomorrow, maybe we could spend some time together?”

“That would be nice.” Cora nodded.

“Good. See you then.”

She and Makkonen watched him leave the dining hall, then they exchanged looks, expressions paint lightly with sadness. They knew what they had between them; Declan didn’t.

“You need to speak with him, Coralee,” said Makkonen.

“I know. You’re right.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “I will. Tomorrow.”

◄☼►

Curled up on a bedroll by one of two fires, bundled in furs, Michael stirred in his sleep. Someone nudged him again, a bit harsher. The young Irishman shifted from slumber, eyes fluttering open. He jumped fully awake, and his eyes loomed at the large man lowered on his haunches beside him.

Michael knew immediately that the man was Declan Harp; he was a noticeable mix of native and white. His hair hung down past his broad shoulders, and he sported a grizzly beard that could use a trim. Early morning light glinted through his blinded blue left eye. His stony countenance held not the slightest hint of kindness.

Michael sat up, bumping Father Coffin awake, who’d been asleep beside him. They both watched Declan closely, finding the man to be big and frightening.

Declan hoisted a grin, and it wasn’t a very nice one. More of a snarl. “Good. You both know who I am. No introduction needed. Stand.”

Michael and Coffin did as demanded. The younger man quickly skimmed around. Declan Harp wasn’t the only newcomer to camp. There was a native woman who appeared somewhat masculine and a huge dark-skinned native man. He was slightly bigger than Declan. Both he and the manly woman remained stoically silent.

Declan rose to his full height too. He looked to Krem and Makkonen, nodding once. Krem instantly went to secure Father Coffin, standing behind him, a knife drawn and pressed to his neck.

Makkonen went behind Michael, locking one arm around his torso and the other under his chin. He spoke lowly by the smaller man’s ear. “Try anything, and I’ll snap your neck like a twig. Understand?”

Michael nodded quickly.

Sokanon, Samoset, Dimanche, and the trappers said nothing, only watching their leader work.

Declan observed the two prisoners, reflecting on everything Sokanon reported to him moments before. Benton was back, and the slavecatcher Angus Beecher had returned to Fort James with his tail between his legs. Served him right. He should never have gone after Coralee, should’ve walked away before he thought to pursue her from Montreal. Sokanon also disclosed the positions of a couple of HBC fur trading posts that were vulnerable and easy to raid.

The frontiersman sighed and stepped forward, the heat of his breath curling from his nose and mouth in small clouds that dissipated on the chill air. His eyes shifted to Father Coffin. “I know why the boy is here. Sent as a spy for Benton. But why are you with him? Why are you here, priest? Come to cleanse us lowly, savage natives with your god? Your..._Jesus_?”

Father Coffin shook his head, otherwise petrified with fear. “I-I assure you, Mr. Harp, that it was not my decision to trek into oblivion to meet the most notorious cutthroat in the north, and it is by the gracious will of my maker that I hope to return to civilization.”

Declan chuffed and smirked, head tilting. “What? Speak normal English.”

“Oh...well...I mean to say I’d like to go back to Fort James. Unharmed, of course.”

“I’m sure you would.” The Cree Irishman’s attention turned to Michael, effectively restrained by Makkonen. “But I need information, and you’re going to give it to me, boy.”

Michael’s heart raced faster. He shook his head. “I dunno what ye think, Mr. Harp. I’m not here on account of Lord Benton. Yes, I know who he is, rode in on his ship as a deckhand looking for a fresh start in the New World. All I know is that he certainly doesn’t like you much.”

Declan leaned down, his face near Michael’s, eyes scanning the younger man. He shook his head slowly, voice gruff and deep when he spoke. “No. I think you’re lying to me. I hate when people lie to me.”

“No, no, no. I swear,” Michael pleaded. “I was looking for you because I-I-I wanted to join your crew. I thought you might have a place for a fellow Irishman.”

Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Do I _look_ like an Irishman to you?”

Michael merely watched him, so scared now that his body vibrated with the pounding of his heart, and he could hear it thumping between his ears.

“You will tell all, boy. I promise you that.” Declan turned to the fire and picked up the knife he had partly set into flames. He’d been heating up the blade since before he woke his prisoners, during Sokanon’s brief. He approached Father Coffin.

“Wh-what are ye doin!” Michael shouted. He struggled in Makkonen’s grip, but the mountain man’s hold was unbreakable.

Father Coffin’s eyes widened, trained on the searing blade slowly heading for him. “Oh, god in heaven!”

Declan got the tip of the knife very close to Coffin’s neck. He looked to Michael, lifting a brow. “Ready to tell me the truth?”

“_That was the truth! I told you everything I know!”_

“Lies! All you spilled were lies! You speak now, boy, or I will flay him wide open, and you will watch! Then, when he dies, you’ll suffer the same, only slower.”

“Please! I don’t know anything. Don’t hurt him…”

Declan wasn’t fucking around. He touched the scalding tip very lightly to Coffin’s skin, and the priest's wail blared into the morning.

“Okay! Stop!” Michael begged. “I-I...was sent by Benton! He told me to get in good with ye, get ye to trust me, then lead you into his trap.”

“Why!” Declan roared, taking the knife close to Coffin’s neck again.

“_For a girl, alright!_ I love her, and Benton said if I didn’t do this, he would...he would kill her...” Michael’s shoulders sank. He was so glad the truth was out, though he didn’t know if it’d be enough to save either him or Father Coffin. “Christ.”

And there it was. The truth. Declan lowered his knife. The kid had been threatened into trying to trap him to save the woman he loved.

It was a story Declan knew all too well; it reeked of Benton's treachery. His expression lost most of its edge, his eyes settling on the young Irishman. “If you’re foolish enough to trust Benton, that girl of yours is already as good as dead, Michael Smyth. Release them.”

Makkonen and Krem let Michael and Father Coffin go.

The Father loosened a great sigh, hand going to the place where the knife point touched. He looked around anxiously, then spoke to Declan, “So...you aren’t going to kill us?”

“Hm. The boy—no. You—I might still kill.”

Father Coffin gulped.

Declan rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Sit down, priest.”

Sokanon stepped off to a remote part of camp with her brother-in-law. “What do you want to do with them?”

Declan’s gaze flipped to Michael and Coffin, both sitting by the fire again and looking in his and Sokanon’s direction. “They’re coming along when we raid those HBC posts.”

“Why?”

“They can’t stay in the village and they can’t stay out here in the wild alone,” the frontiersman answered. “So, we take them along.”

“Do you trust them?” she asked.

“They don’t like Benton either, which means they’re at least neutral in my book. And Michael, we could use him against that old bastard, make him think his spy infiltrated. We’ll make the boy one of us.”

Sokanon considered his words. “And what if he turns on you?”

“I don’t think he will.”

“But what if he _does_?”

Declan’s features hardened. “Then I kill him.”

◄☼►

Coralee worked steadily hanging laundry on the lines with the other women, humming to herself. Her new friend Lataka worked close by. Cora was glad that she knew enough English to hold decent conversations. During one of their talks, the woman confided in Coralee that she found Makkonen very attractive but would’ve never thought to approach him romantically because she was too shy. Not to mention, he was the son of the _okimaw_. Any woman in the village that meant to have him as a husband had to see herself as ‘special’. Apparently, Piwan was the only one to openly show long-term interest in him, though it was debatable whether she’d ever get him, since Makkonen had no romantic interest in her.

The Iron Bull was known to have a fling here and there with unattached women in the tribe, sensual encounters that occurred out of the need for basic human companionship. Both parties knew it wouldn’t go further than sex. Lataka pointed out one such woman who worked with them on laundry duty, Amina. She had been with Makkonen unofficially for a short while. Then, she partook in the spring visits earlier that year and met a man of the River Dweller tribe, the younger brother of Wahush. They got married within a couple of weeks and settled in the Forest Cree village.

Coralee spared discreet looks at Amina, who quietly hung shirts on the lines. She was very pretty with almond-shaped eyes. Makkonen hadn’t been with her for months, yet Cora couldn’t restrain the inkling of jealousy. The southern beauty took a breath and kept working. She certainly couldn’t hold a grudge for things that happened before she was even part of Makkonen’s life. He’d obviously been with women before her.

She was glad to have Lataka to talk with. Their conversations allowed Cora to get a better view of life in the tribe, to feel things out. And she still wanted very much to live there. Her hazel eyes roamed and fell on a familiar group of people heading up the main path: Declan, Makkonen, Krem, Sokanon, Dimanche, and Samoset.

Cora hurried over as they moved by the laundry area.

They stopped, and Declan’s gaze fixed on the petite woman.

Cora knew that dire look in his eyes. “Is...something wrong?”

“No,” Declan said, “However, there are things I must tend to.”

“Things like what?” Her hazel vision quickly drew over everyone, then fell on Declan again.

“Benton is back. He’s in Fort James. I’m sorry, Coralee, but I have to leave. Tomorrow.”

“To go after that man?”

“To raid some Hudson Bay posts, take their furs. I’ll be back before your six weeks is up. Then, I’m going for Benton.”

Cora took his hand, gripping it firmly in both of hers. “I know I can’t change your mind. You’re set on getting that evil son of a gun, but I really wish you’d reconsider. I...I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

The frontiersman gently cupped her face in his hands and tenderly brought his lips down to hers for a kiss. Cora didn’t object, though she could feel Makkonen’s eyes burning at them. Declan pulled back and stroked her cheek. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Coralee. I’ll come back to you.”

It took a lot for Makkonen not to step in. His eye twitched, and his jaw clenched. He wanted very much to snatch Coralee from Declan’s embrace.

Sokanon was always observing. She saw the way Makkonen watched Declan and Cora, the restrained anger. The mountain man’s gaze swayed to Sokanon to catch her staring at him, and he quickly looked away. Sokanon’s eyes narrowed. Something was going on, and she knew it.

Coralee turned to Makkonen, worry pinching her beautiful features. “Does this mean you’re leaving too? I...I don’t really know anyone else here…”

“I’m staying,” said Makkonen sternly. Perhaps too sternly. He was fuming over the kiss. “Declan and his Black Wolves can handle this. I’ll be right here with you.”

The mountain man and the frontiersman locked gazes, so much charged energy passing between them.

“Fine. Stay. I’m not worried,” Declan replied. _I’m not worried._ Not worried about Makkonen stealing Coralee. Only a couple in the group would understand the secret meaning of those three words: Sokanon and Krem. The Cree Irishman addressed Cora. “I was hoping to spend time with you today, but I can’t. I have to prepare for departure.”

She nodded, offering a sad smile. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I’m looking forward to having dinner again.”

Coralee giggled. “Alright. And I’ll cook.”

“Deal.” Declan kissed her forehead, then addressed his crew. “Eat, drink, rest, and enjoy your time at home. We leave at dawn.”

The Black Wolf sent a smirk at Makkonen, then brushed off across the village. The others dispersed to their homes, leaving Makk and Cora alone. The couple shifted to a less busy area.

She sighed, keeping her voice low. “Well...I can’t tell him now.”

“Why? Now’s the perfect time,” said Makkonen, frowning. “I almost lost it when he kissed you, Coralee. I’m tired of hiding.”

“I know, but…” she shook her head, “...I couldn’t possibly tell him about us now, not when he’s going on a mission _tomorrow_, Makkonen. I don’t want him worrying and mulling over it while he’s out there, distracted. No, I...I’ll tell him when he returns.”

“Either way, _apaskwaniy_, he’s gonna know about us when gets back. The village isn’t that big. People are already talking.” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.

Coralee nuzzled his chest, eyes shutting. “I know…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spiritual Flutes music provided by David R. Maracle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jt8g4bnXePY&list=OLAK5uy_n4XB0tzKzjOdy8IIXQUM8iPiiOR2LWXe4&index=9


	14. Big-Tall-and-Ugly Takes Initiative

Though Declan and Makkonen had been Coralee’s main guides and proxies while she stayed with the tribe, Mohco was still obligated under order of the _okimaw_ to be at the young woman’s beck and call for whatever she needed. Cora found the man and asked him to wake her well before dawn so she could see Declan and the others off.

As requested, she received knocks to her tipi plank in the earliest morning hours, and after pulling back the flap to thank Mohco greatly, Cora got dressed, slipped into her long, warm coat, and headed for the main path out of the village. Everyone but Krem waited by the well-guarded entrance. Makkonen was there too to see his tribe-brothers and sisters off.

Coralee’s hazel eyes went from the Bull to the Wolf.

Declan smiled broadly at her. “You didn’t have to wake up. That’s why I stopped by last night to bid farewell, so you wouldn’t feel compelled to do this.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. I had already asked Mohco to wake me up.” She reciprocated his smile. “I just wanted to see you again before you left, see you off.”

“Well, I’m glad you did.” Declan reached to draw the backs of his fingers along her cheek. For such a big, brutal man, he sure could be gentle and sweet.

Sokanon huffed and rolled her eyes at Krem, who jogged towards them. “It’s about time.”

“Hey,” Krem shrugged, grinning. “Woke up later than I planned. But the fun has arrived, and we can now leave.”

Cora moved aside to stand by Makkonen, while the others grouped up, checking their gear.

“We ready?” called Declan.

Everyone nodded.

The frontiersman stepped before Cora, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her temple. He closed his eyes a moment, nuzzling her hair, breathing her in, storing the moment away for those cold days and nights he knew lay ahead of him and his Black Wolves. He whispered into her ear, “Wait for me…”

Cora stared up at him when he pulled back, knowing very well the implication of his words. He knew there was a love triangle between him, her, and Makkonen, and wanted the chance to win her for himself, not yet realizing that she’d already chosen his tribe-brother. God, it made her heart hurt. But she finally nodded anyway. “Please be careful, Declan. All of you.”

“We will,” Declan replied softly. He loved her dearly, and his expression spoke as much, the intense way he watched her.

Makkonen knew exactly how Declan felt and was sad for him, because he _also_ knew Cora didn’t return the sentiment. “She’ll be fine. I watch after her.”

Declan’s eyes veered to Makk, and his features vaguely sharpened. “Mm. Try not to watch her _too_ closely.

Everyone looked curiously between the Bull and the Wolf; Sokanon understood what Declan meant. He didn’t want Makkonen to try anything with Cora while he was gone.

Cora apparently understood too. She blushed warmly.

Makkonen merely returned Declan’s stare. They might be at odds currently, but Makk would always love him. “Be careful out there, brother.”

“Always.” After Declan shared another affectionate look with Cora, he turned and moved for the exit.

The others followed, while Cora and Makkonen stood by and watched.

◄☼►

Declan and his crew took the usual route from the village, via the main trail. It took an hour to get down into the forest. The trail dispersed and vanished into the landscape. They kept a good speed, crossing the river at its most shallow place, right before pristine waters tumbled over a short fall into a large lake.

Sokanon hastened her pace to match Declan’s. “So, what’s going on with you, Coralee, and Makkonen?”

“Caught on to that, did you?” He chuffed lightly, keeping his voice low and between them.

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Silence shrouded Declan while he hiked forward and gathered his thoughts. “He’s in love with her, has been since we met up at the cabin.”

“What? Wow…”

Declan’s burning gaze trained forward. He shook his head. “This is so something he would do, try to take a woman from me. He did it when we were teenagers.”

Sokanon laughed softly. “Makkonen would never try to take a woman from you, Declan. And in his defense, you were boys chasing girls back then. Did you really see yourself marrying any of them? Were you even thinking of marriage in your teens?”

“Still. I saw Coralee first. You’d think he would respect that.”

“Maybe…” she shrugged, “...maybe he tried not to get between you and her, but no one can deny their heart, Declan.”

He spared a glance at her, and he didn’t appear angry anymore; Sokanon thought he looked lovesick. “I’ve been through so much. _Lost_ so much. I loved Nuna more than anything. She and Mikinok were my life, my _world_.”

“I know…” Sokanon said softly.

“I never thought I’d love anyone else the way I loved her...then I met Cora, got to know her. I can’t explain the happiness I felt when I had Nuna and Mikinok, and I deserve to be that happy again. I know I can with Cora.”

It wasn’t often that Sokanon had such talks with Declan. The man thought he was too rugged and macho to open up and let his feelings ooze. She rubbed his arm. “Even I can see that she loves you very much...but she also loves Makkonen.”

“Yeah,” he churned a sigh.

“All you can do is be there for her, regardless of what happens. I’m sure she knows you love her.”

“You’re right,” he nodded. “When we get back, she and I are going to talk and establish where we stand. If she means to be with Makkonen, then I need to know.”

“Good. For now, keep your head in the game, old man.” Sokanon grinned and nudged him.

Declan smirked at her, then a good-natured smile spread over his face. Sokanon was dear to him, and he was very lucky to have her.

◄☼►

Two days after Declan and the others left on their crusade to liberate more pelts from the Hudson Bay Company, Coralee lay curled up in a blanket on her furs, staring at lapping, dancing flames in the firepit. She finished her chores a little less than an hour ago, and luckily there wasn’t much to do. Collecting some eggs from the chickens and feeding them. She was glad to be back in her tipi.

A knock resounded on the plank outside, and Coralee rose to answer, already knowing who it was. She pulled back the flap and offered a small smile at Makkonen, then turned and went back to her bed to resettle in the blanket.

Makkonen secured the entrance. He sat beside her, wondering why she didn’t look as cheery as usual. “I...thought I’d take you out to practice with your slingshot, but you don’t seem up to it.”

Cora shook her head. “Mm, no. Not today...or the next few days.”

“Somethin’ wrong?”

She sighed lazily. “I just really want to lie here and eat on sweet stuff.”

One of Makkonen’s brows lifted.

“I’m tired and bloaty and just want to relax,” Cora said.

“Um...is this a woman thing?”

She shrugged at the sour face he’d adopted. “What? I can’t help that it happens to me.”

Makk grunted. “It’s kind of gross.”

“Aw. Big, strong man with a big axe can’t handle one little womanly process. It’s natural!” She kicked a foot out, tapping his leg.

“Doesn’t make it any less disgusting.”

Cora produced a pouty frown. “Can’t you just go find me something sweet to eat? Damn.”

The mountain man rumbled out laughter. “Yeah. I’ll see what I can do, woman.”

He left and returned ten minutes later with _pahk-amow_ filled with apple preserve jam. _Pahk-amow_ was honey bread, a sweet treat regularly prepared in Cree settlements. The bread was crispy on the outside, soft and chewy inside, and glazed in a mixture of caramelized honey and nuts. It was commonly filled with fruit jams, such as apples or blackberries.

Cora was in heaven eating the Cree dessert. It reminded her of apple pie, but much better. Makkonen smiled tenderly while watching her devour the thing. Afterwards, his _apaskwaniy_ wanted him to cuddle her for warmth, so he did. And when she fell asleep snuggled against him, Makkonen stroked her brow and kissed it, smiling at her soft snores. She was his perfect treasure. He had already killed one man for her, and he would kill a thousand more if he had to.

“I love you…” he whispered.

◄☼►

Over two weeks passed with no luck capturing Harp. Having received reports of him attacking two HBC fur posts in the Undisputed Territory so far, Lord Benton decided to grant Angus Beecher’s request. He sent Lieutenant Vanstone to retrieve the slavecatcher from Porter’s Inn where he’d been staying.

When Angus walked through the double-doors into the governor’s stateroom this time, he found Benton and a deviously handsome man waiting.

“Mr. Beecher,” started Benton, “Welcome back. I don’t believe you’ve met my second in command, Captain Chesterfield. Though, his usefulness to me remains debatable.”

Jonathan took in a deep breath and released. The old fart bag was trying to push his buttons. He was annoyed that the captain hadn’t found Harp yet.

Benton’s sharp eyes fixed on Angus. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll give you ten men to go up and find Harp, if you’re still interested.”

Angus grinned. “Damn right, I am.”

“Good. I tasked the captain here with bringing me the savage. Perhaps, you shall succeed where he continues to fail. I often wonder how he obtained the title and rank of Captain.”

Jonathan’s lips pressed into a thin, angry line, but he kept his tone in check. “I didn’t _fail_, sir. The reason I didn’t find Harp was because he’s up in hostile, uncharted territory.”

“Yes, well, a fail is a fail, isn’t it?” Benton piped at him. His eyes rolled to Angus. “As I said, I will give you ten soldiers. And I _want Harp alive_.”

“Alive? Why?” Angus frowned.

“Because I do. If you bring him back alive, I will triple whatever your bounty is for the slave girl.”

Angus considered the offer. That was six thousand dollars, a heap of money. But what Lord Benton didn’t realize was that Angus didn’t care about the money. Declan’s head was all the payment he wanted. However, he nodded. “Okay. Alive it is.”

“Excellent!” Benton grinned darkly.

“We’ll leave immediately, sir,” said Jonathan.

“I need you here, Chesterfield. You’re not going.” The devious English lord paid no mind to Jonathan fuming beside him. He looked to Angus. “You’ll leave in two days.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t fail me, Mr. Beecher.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“Good.” After Angus left, Lord Benton addressed Chesterfield. “Go to the Ale House and bring Imogen here. I wish to see if she has anything interesting to report.”

Jonathan snapped to attention, then spun and stiffly strode out.

◄☼►

_“When the Sun comes back_

_And the first quail calls,_

_Follow the Drinking Gourd._

_For the old man is a-waiting for to carry you to freedom_

_If you Follow the Drinking Gourd._

_The riverbank makes a very good road._

_The dead trees will show you the way._

_Left foot, peg foot, travelling on,_

_Follow the Drinking Gourd._

_The river ends between two hills,_

_Follow the Drinking Gourd._

_There’s another river on the other side,_

_Follow the Drinking Gourd._

_When the big river meets the little river,_

_Follow the Drinking Gourd._

_For the old man is a-waiting for to carry you to freedom_

_If you Follow the Drinking Gourd…”_

Coralee’s crisp, light, robust voice trailed off, finishing what was one of several encoded songs used by slaves when attempting to escape plantations in the south. She sat on a toppled log in a small clearing adjacent to the main path. The village was behind her, through a thin curtain of trees. Ahead of her, below the plateau, was a lake and miles of forest. She’d found the spot not long after arriving at the village while out exploring. When she needed to think or wanted to be alone, she went there.

“That was beautiful,” came Makkonen’s voice.

He’d been standing there for most of the song, listening to her sing. Of course, he knew every part of the plateau and that she frequented the clearing. When he didn’t find her at her tipi, he figured she’d be there.

Coralee smiled over her shoulder, scooting closer to him when he sat and linked his arm around her.

“It’s a song slaves sing when they’re fixin’ to escape or, like me, when they already have and are heading north for freedom,” she said softly, eyes scanning the picturesque scene below. “Some people in the group I escaped with sang it, though I’d heard it long before I was ever free.”

Makkonen nodded. “I’ve heard a few such songs during my liberation missions, called out into the night from slave quarters. The voices are so soulful, haunting, singing in perfect, harmonious unison.”

“When I was on the plantation and heard those songs speaking secretly of freedom, I used to dream that a savior was coming for me, mama, and my brothers. And we would follow the Drinking Gourd, the Big Dipper, to absolute freedom.” A shroud of sadness fell over her face, and she laughed dryly. “Well, at least _I_ managed to get away.”

“Yes, you did. You can’t blame yourself for getting free, Coralee. You told me that your mother risked everything to get you away from the slave master, that she didn’t want you to end up in his bed. So, it’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault. You’re here now, free, because your mother made it happen.” Makkonen nuzzled her brow. “I know she wouldn’t want you beating yourself up. She’d want you to live the best life you could and enjoy your freedom.”

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “You’re right. I’m still hoping to go back for them one day, though.”

Makk smiled. “I know, my sweet. So, ultimately, what do you think of the Tribe?”

“It’s peaceful and quiet, so beautiful up here. Everyone works together and does their part.” Cora tugged on a thin grimace. “Ain’t no slavery. I could get used to living here. I already have, but...well...there’s only one week left, then I’ll probably have to leave.”

She sighed and pulled back to fix her eyes upon him. The couple engaged into a kiss.

◄☼►

Makkonen and Coralee went to grab lunch, then headed back to her tipi, where they laid around the fire and made out. While the mountain man was masterful at containing himself, he was beginning to struggle with his sexual control. Coralee had loosened up to him, allowing not just his kisses, but his roaming hands. That day, they’d gone the furthest they ever had in their romance. Amidst a rapidly heating kiss, Makkonen had maneuvered atop her and between her legs, but before it got out of control, Cora stopped him. And they went back to embracing.

It took Makkonen a while to cool down. He was still very much affected when he left his southern beauty and headed for Miyotehew’s tipi. He knocked on the plank.

A moment later, the _okimaw_ opened her flap and let her son inside. They sat around the fire.

Makkonen smelled and saw the incense burning. He spoke in their native Cree tongue, as was normal when it was the two of them. “I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

“No,” she said, smiling at him. “Just a little meditation. What did you need, son?”

“I was just wondering what kind of vibe you’re getting from the Council regarding Coralee. In a week, she’ll be going before them again.”

Miyotehew nodded. “Mm. Honestly, I feel they may vote to send her away.”

“Can’t you overrule them? You’re the _okimaw_?”

“It is the Cree way, Makkonen, our law, and it cannot be circumvented. We survive because of our laws. You know this.” Miyotehew’s lovely, mature features sculpted in concern. She knew her son loved the woman the way he’d never loved another.

“Dammit! There must be a way for Cora to stay here. She’s safest with the Tribe, and she won’t survive out there.”

Miyotehew’s expression softened, she smiled faintly. “Well, what logically and legally could be done to make her part of the tribe, my son?”

Makkonen gave her a long, contemplative look. He believed he understood her suggested solution.

The _okimaw’s_ smile broadened, and she nodded. “You know what you have to do.”

◄☼►

Coralee spent the remainder of the day in her tipi reading one of several books Makkonen gave her a few days after she arrived at the village. The man was born and raised as Cree. However, he traveled far and wide from his people for experience and knowledge. Once Cora started spending time with him in his tipi, he revealed that some of his crates were filled with books he’d collected. All sorts of literature. Poetry, biology reports, and a story about a land of sand dunes and a wish-granter living in a magic lamp. His collection contained some of everything. Makkonen loved reading, and so did she. It was another commonality between them.

Once the sun went down, the mountain man stopped by Cora’s tipi to pick her up, and they headed to the dining lodge. The place was busy as usual, pleasantly warm and lively. They found a table near the hearth and removed their coats.

Coralee smiled and grazed eyes over him. “Wow. That’s a nice shirt.”

“Thanks,” Makk said, purposefully neglecting to elaborate on the item of clothing. It was a ceremonial tunic, hemmed with intricate patterns. The sleeves were long, and the fit was closer on his torso, accentuating his brawny physique. The fine shirt hung down to the middle of his thighs.

“What’s the special occasion?” Cora giggled. “I feel underdressed.”

“You’re perfect, _apaskwaniy_. Go ahead and get seated. I’ll make you a plate.”

“Oh, okay then.” The young woman settled at the table, watching the man she loved slip off. Her eyes roamed the room.

Everything looked as it did every other night she’d dined there. The only difference was that all the seats at the Council table were filled. Usually, any two or three of them were present at a time, but all six were there tonight.

And they were watching her.

_And_ they didn’t seem as serious. Rather contently observant. Coralee thought she even saw some smiles. The _okimaw_ was definitely smiling.

Makkonen returned with their food, setting a plate before her. He sat, and they proceeded to eat.

“Is something going on?” Coralee asked after she chewed the succulent piece of caribou in her mouth.

“Why do you ask that?”

Her eyes flicked to the Council table. “I’ve never seen all of them in here at once for any meal.”

“It happens sometimes.” Makkonen drizzled a chuckle, dipped a bit of flat bread in the sauce accumulated on his plate, and popped it in his mouth.

Coralee shrugged it off and continued her meal.

They talked casually while dining. The young woman even reached her foot under the table to brush lightly up and down his shin. Makkonen issued a low groan, heated eyes fixed on her. The man was very glad she felt bold enough to sexually taunt him. And any doubts he had for what he was about to do evaporated from his mind. It was the correct and natural course of action. She loved him and he loved her.

“Being a bad girl, hm?” he drawled, voice carrying only between the two of them, hidden amongst the many conversations in the place.

Coralee blushed, but only a little. Her alluring hazel eyes narrowed sensuously. She was quite looking forward to getting him back to her tipi so they could kiss and stuff. “Maybe…”

“Definitely.”

She giggled.

Makkonen’s eyes dropped to her plate. She was nearly finished. “Be right back.”

He stood, and long, powerful legs took him to the Council table. The mountain man first settled eyes on his mother, who nodded and smiled. Then, he looked to the others, each offering their nods. Makkonen inhaled deeply, picked up the tall-necked carafe on their table, and poured amber-colored liquid into two cups, filling one much more than the other.

Makkonen looked to Miyotehew again.

“_Cihkeyihtamowin_,” she said.

His brown-fire gaze went to each of the Council members, and each spoke in turn:

“_Kihcikewin_.”

“_Itamahcihowin_.”

“_Miywayawin._”

“_Sipinewin._”

“_Nikihci-aniskotapan._”

Happiness, fertility, health, prosperity, longevity, and blessings of the ancestors.

Makkonen nodded to his elders, took up the two cups, and went back to Cora. By now others in the room began to notice their Iron Bull’s attire, the ceremonial tunic. Makk gave Cora the fuller cup.

She sniffed it and smiled. “What is this?”

“_Sominapoy._ Blackberry wine.”

“Oh,” she perked and sipped, then grinned. “It’s tasty! Kind of like juice.”

Makkonen sipped his as well, watching her. “Yes, it’s easy to forget it’s alcohol.”

“Mmm…” Cora hummed, gulping more of the drink.

“Careful, _apaskwaniy_.” He chuckled. “It’ll hit you out of nowhere.”

That particular batch of _sominapoy_ was more potent than usual.

“Oh, I think I’ll be alright.” She finished the glass and held it out to him. “Could you get me some more. I’d go over to the Council table myself, but they seem weird tonight. Keep on watching me.”

Makkonen took her cup. “Alright. But only a little more. I’m telling you the stuff is strong, Cora.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waved him off, smiling. “Just a little bit more.”

A few moments later, she had another serving of the drink in her hands, though the cup was half as full now. Coralee sipped on it until it was gone, and by the time she finished, the effects had begun to take hold. Miyotehew signaled the drummers and flutist to strike up a song. She also instructed some men to move the food tables from the middle of the room, creating a large open space.

Makkonen saw his lady was nice and loose. She rose slowly from her chair and moved around the table to him, staring up with a languid, euphoric smile. Cora pressed her hands to his solid, warm chest, rubbing gradually downward.

“My god, you are a beautiful man…” she drawled, then giggled.

Makk smoothly caught her hands and stilled them before they went _too_ low. He chuckled softly at her. Yep, she was lit. Unquestionably a ‘lightweight’. No more drinks for her that night. “I’m glad you think so.”

“No, no. I _know_ it!” she wailed, then hugged tightly around his middle. Cora drew back and raised her arms over her head, eyes closing. She started swaying to the music, distinctly reminded of times back on the plantation when the slaves were allowed to celebrate on certain Sundays. Only, there with the Tribe, she was free. No one watching and dictating.

She laughed and spun away from Makkonen.

The mountain man’s eyes went to Miyotehew, who immediately stood with the other Council members and positioned in front of their table. The _okimaw_ nodded to a man who’d been standing by. A shaman. He wore ceremonial attire, including a headdress adorned with eagle’s feathers. The man stepped forward, further drawing surprise from the rest of the villagers, who had begun to understand what was happening. They formed a large circle around the lodge, bobbing to the drums and observing the spirited Coralee as she happily twirled and danced, looking like an ethereal being with her springy hair floating and swaying around her.

Makkonen went to the young woman and grabbed her, halting.

Coralee found herself staring up at him, and amidst her drunkenness, she gained just enough clarity to know there was no other place she’d rather be than there in his arms.

Makkonen lowered his face and kissed her. He adhered his gaze to hers, and the next words he uttered were in his language: “_Esa anohc yahki niyanani meskanaw ewako. Ako pimacihowin, kiya niwikimakan. Miteh tahkine ascimew,_ Coralee.”

The young beauty just stared up at him, smiling blissfully, understanding not a word, save for her name. She nodded after he finished, drunk on the brew. “Uh-huh…”

Makkonen planted his right palm to her left one, peering down gently.

The shaman stepped forward chanting something. He twined a line of beads around their wrists and circled the couple once, while still chanting. When he finished, he grinned at them and stepped back.

Makkonen removed his palm from Cora’s, pocketing the beads.

The Tribe immediately hooted and yipped.

Coralee was happier than she could ever remember feeling. She laughed and spun from Makkonen, dancing and vibing.

Makkonen stole a look to Miyotehew, then went to stand beside her. The woman had tears in her eyes. He lifted a small smile at his mother. “Please tell me you aren’t going to cry.”

She pulled him close for a hug, then grinned up at him. “I never thought I’d see this day, so I just might.”

“Mother…”

“I’m so happy for you and Coralee! Though,” she faced the center of the room, watching with the rest of the Tribe as the southern beauty danced about, “I thought you might _ask_ her first.”

Makkonen shrugged broad shoulders. “Yeah, well, too late now. It’s done.”

“Indeed, it is.” Miyotehew smiled at him, then she bobbed to the drums with the others in the circle, part of their age-old traditions.

The mountain man did the same, his rhythmic movement synced to the beat of the drums, along with his fellow Cree.

Every person in the lodge moved as one, even the children, watching Coralee whirl about. Unknown to her, the woman was no longer classified as an outsider.

One person did not form up with the circle. Piwan. She stood on the outskirts of the celebration, hurt and teary. She rushed off, no longer able to stomach watching the man she loved bind himself to another woman. Piwan had always hoped he would look at her the way he watched Coralee then, with golden light in his eyes, the illumination of unflinching love and devotion; he would do anything for her. Piwan wanted that kind of love from Makkonen, but it would certainly never happen. His once untamed and wild heart belonged to Coralee.

The Iron Bull smiled tenderly as Cora swooned around the floor. He hoped she wouldn’t be too angry with him in the morning, once she found out what he’d done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful Native flute and drum music played at Makkonen’s and Coralee’s wedding was provided by David R. Maracle: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QH-UhDW5F64&list=OLAK5uy_n4XB0tzKzjOdy8IIXQUM8iPiiOR2LWXe4&index=11


	15. "Miteh Tahkine Ascimew, Coralee..."

The next day, Coralee stirred slowly awake. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Makkonen’s captivating man-scent. It surrounded her. Her eyes gradually opened, and she found herself in his tipi, lying on her stomach on his bed of furs fully clothed, warm and snug under his blankets. The young woman sat up and scanned around for him, but she was alone, and she could tell it was well into morning by the light through the ventilation hole above.

Cora’s brow furrowed. How had she gotten there? She remembered having something to drink last night and twirling, dancing, while the tribe bobbed with her to the drums. However, she _didn’t_ remember walking back to Makkonen’s place.

She sighed, stretched, and smacked her lips, grimacing. Her mouth was drier than an armadillo’s backside, and after a quick look around, she didn’t spot any water. So, she tossed back the blankets, pulled her boots on, and exited into the clear, brisk, refreshing morning.

Before Cora took a step, she raked slender hands over her hair, trying to tame the disheveled poof it had become overnight since it wasn’t tied down or braided. She wrestled with it for a few moments, then growled, gave up, and stalked off for the well. She just wanted a nice, cold cup to saturate the inside of her dehydrated mouth.

Cora moved steadily, feeling slightly sluggish but otherwise fine. She wondered where Makkonen was.

As she made her way through the village, she passed a couple of tribespeople. Both of them smiled at her and said, “_Saweyi_.”

Cora returned the smile, albeit a bit shakily. She wished she understood more Cree. She passed another man and a couple of women, all of them smiling broadly and exclaiming that word again: _Saweyi!_

When she finally reached the well, Cora sighed with relief and ladled some water into a cup. She greedily gulped at the wonderful liquid.

“_Saweyi_,” came a familiar voice.

Cora spun to face Miyotehew’s glowing smile. “Oh, good morning.” Confusion wrinkled her brow. “What does that mean? Almost everybody I ran into on the way over here said that to me.”

“It means ‘congratulations’.”

“Congratulations?” Cora sipped more from her cup.

Miyotehew nodded. “How do you like being married?”

“_Pwwwfffshhh!_” Cora spat water, coughing. “_Married!_ No, ma’am, I most certainly am _not_ married.”

The _okimaw_ chuckled. “Oh, but you are. Last night you performed the rite of matrimony...with my son.”

Coralee’s eyes widened, her breaths deepening. She attempted to skim her memories of the night before more in-depth. There was drinking and dancing, yes, making her feel so giddy and happy. The drums and flutes, the ultimate beauty of the Tribe. There was also Makkonen. _Makkonen!_ She recalled him holding her close, and they kissed. Then, they held hands while he said something in Cree. And there was another chanting man; he had beads. And the Tribe cheered.

Cora dropped her cup. “_Oh my god!"_

“So..._saweyi_,” Miyotehew said again. She embraced the young woman, then pulled back and nodded beyond Cora.

Cora spun to see her new husband a short distance away wearing an attentive expression. He didn’t want to be in the tipi when she woke up, so went off to chop wood.

“Mornin’.”

“_Is that all you have to say! You son of a gun! How you just gone marry somebody without their consent!_” Coralee ran at him, intending to pummel his chest with small fists, but he smoothly dipped and caught her over his shoulder, striding for his tipi. Cora squeaked in surprise, so easily hoisted up. “_Put me down, Makkonen! Put me down right now!_”

A large hand fell firmly on her backside, not enough force to hurt but to gain her attention. “Calm down, woman.”

Momentarily stunned at what was clearly a love-pat spanking, Cora ceased to struggle, catching the amused expressions of people they passed through the wild puff of her hair. She growled and started punching at his back. “_How dare you! Put me DOWN!_”

Villagers snickered and laughed at the spectacle of their Iron Bull toting his young wife to their tipi, probably for some marital fun time. Makkonen ducked through the flap, sat Cora to the furs, then turned to secure the entrance.

The southern beauty glared up at him, shrinking back when he lowered to sit beside her.

“No need to be that way,” he said.

She snorted her disagreement.

“Really, Cora, please don’t be mad. There was no guarantee the Council would vote in your favor. I…” He shrugged massive shoulders. “I couldn’t let them send you away. Even if I took you back to Fort James or Montreal or wherever, you’d be alone out there with the slavecatchers on your trail, constantly running from them probably. No. I couldn’t let that happen. Now that we’re married, you’re part of the Tribe. By law, you can stay.”

Every word he produced absorbed a little of her anger, until all she could do was sigh and scoot closer. “You couldn’t just ask like a normal man?”

Makkonen churned a smile that made her heart sing and her skin warm. “Yeah, I guess I could’ve, but you said you wanted to take things slow, and I wasn’t sure how you’d feel being hitched to Big-Tall-and-Ugly.”

Cora blurted a giggle. “Well, I wouldn’t call you ugly.” She blushed and heated further at his sultry gaze.

“Was that you flirting with me, Mrs. Hightower?”

She gasped, and a small hand went daintily to her chest. “God, when you say it out loud…” Her melodic country drawl filled the tipi. “I can’t believe I’m actually married.”

“Yep. That you are.”

“Do you...do you really even love me?” she breathed, unable to take her hazel eyes off him.

Makkonen turned fully to her, caressing the delicate curve of her cheek. “Woman, do you even have to ask? The night I walked into that cabin and saw you pick up that broom, I knew I loved you. I have been in love with you since we met.”

Cora’s lips trembled and her eyes watered. She shook a small laugh, moving into his arms. “So, the broom was the deciding factor in your love for me.”

“Yep. Totally.”

She chirped another short, soft laugh. Their faces got closer, until they could feel the warmth of one another’s breaths.

“Wh-what do we do now?” Cora watched him as calmly as she could, though she knew he could feel her vibrating with excitement in his arms.

Makkonen intimately nuzzled noses with her, lips tracing along her cheek back to her ear, and Cora shivered. He whispered, “Whatever you want to do, _apaskwaniy_.”

Of course, the young beauty yearned to be physical with him and joined her lips to his. Makkonen welcomed the advances, clamping his arms around her. He groaned thickly, gradually laying her back on the fur bedding. As much as Cora wanted to go further, she couldn’t help but tremble under him.

Makkonen pressed one hot, hungry kiss to her lips, then rolled off. He laid back with his hands behind his head, watching her sensuously.

Confused, Cora studied him. She asked softly, “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not ready.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not, and that’s alright, _apaskwaniy_. I can wait. Here…” He reached and pulled the decorative strand of ceremonial beads from a small pouch, placing it in her hands.

“I remember this from last night. It was...wrapped around our wrists,” Cora recalled.

“Think of it as…” he pondered, “...a wedding ring. Most women like to keep it after the ceremony. I thought you might.”

“Makkonen…” Cora leaned in and kissed him. “Thank you. I certainly would like to keep it.”

“You’re welcome.” His body ached for sexual release. But since it was unlikely he and his new bride would be engaging in _masiwewin_, he required a distraction. “I’m going out with the hunting party. I’ll return a bit later. You should get comfortable, since this is your home now.”

“Okay…” Cora replied meekly. She knew he was frustrated.

Makkonen kissed her, then stood and left.

She flopped back on the furs, vowing to conquer her fear of being fully intimate with him by the time he returned. Though she’d been scared and shaking in her skin with Makkonen on top of her, his powerful body and throbbing manhood pressed against her, Cora really did want him.

◄☼►

Declan and his Black Wolves raided two Hudson Bay Company fur posts. He considered each attack to be highly successful since none of his people were killed, and they managed to seize a valuable number of pelts. Father Coffin didn’t engage the enemy but stayed well hidden, as was expected. Michael, however, surprised Declan by stepping up and getting his hands dirty. The young Irishman stabbed a redcoat who would’ve otherwise shot Dimanche.

Thus far, the Black Wolf’s plan to assimilate Michael into his group was working, and he agreed to help Michael get his lady back.

Now, the group had split into two. Declan, Sokanon, Krem, the three trappers, Michael, and Father Coffin all headed back into Forest Cree territory. Samoset and Dimanche were to float the stolen fur bundles downriver by canoe and meet with the River Dwellers, who would keep the goods safe. After that, the two native men would find Jean-Marc Rivard, who spoke to Declan a little while back of a prestigious buyer named Samuel Grant in Montreal. Declan wanted Rivard to get Grant to meet him somewhere near Fort James to talk in person, unknowing that Grant’s dear Mr. Pond was the one who’d brought about Tom Creely’s unfortunate end.

◄☼►

Cora took some time to do as Makkonen suggested, getting settled. She made a couple of trips to her tipi fetching things, officially moving into his tipi. Well, _their_ tipi now. She gathered some ingredients from the abundant stores and created a pot of caribou stew, which sat on the outskirts of the firepit to keep warm.

When Makkonen entered the tipi just before nightfall, he found her sitting on the furs wrapped in a blanket and one of his large shirts, watching the fire. The shirt hung suggestively off one shoulder. Her bounteous crown of curly tendrils was loose and flowing. Smiling seductively, Coralee pulled back the blanket to show slender, bare legs.

Hunger swiftly gathered in Makkonen’s eyes as he watched her slowly remove the shirt, revealing her nude beauty. Round breasts that were the perfect handful. He firmly secured the tipi entrance. “Cora…”

She smiled nervously and reached for him.

A captive to her spell, Makkonen went over. His gaze roamed every part of her. He removed his boots and lowered into her embrace, their lips colliding in frenzied passion. Cora moaned and buried hands in his hair, head tilting back when he nuzzled his face against her neck. The mountain man leaned her into the furs, gliding a hand over her breast, caressing. The fire that consumed him was nearly uncontrollable.

He groaned and pulled back.

Coralee huffed. “Now what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. It’s just...I know you’ve never been with anyone before, and I don’t expect—”

She tenderly pressed a finger to his lips to hush his words. “I want this, Makkonen. I want you. You don’t want me?”

He stared hotly at her. “You _know_ that’s not it. I just don’t want to rush you.”

Cora giggled. “You’re not. I’m a big girl and I’ve made my decision. Now, take me, husband.”

Slowly, he nodded. “As you wish.”

In that moment, Makkonen knew he wouldn’t back down again unless she stopped him. He rolled beside her and proceeded to remove his shirt, then socks. Coralee tingled excitedly, watching him disrobe. When he undid his pants, lifted his hips, and began sliding the garment downward, she held her breath. Makkonen paused, grinning. The young woman eagerly met his gaze, embarrassed but amused.

Determined to alleviate her modesty, he stopped and planted on his elbows, supporting his upper body. Dark brown eyes smiled mischievously at her. “I think I’ll let you unwrap this package yourself.”

“What?” Cora’s eyes enlarged.

“Go ahead.”

She nibbled her lip, sweeping her gaze up and down his gorgeous body. Bulging biceps, chiseled chest, and rigid midsection. The oblique muscles on his sides were defined and toned. Cora thought the icing on the big, handsome cake was the enticing layer of hair over his chest and stomach. He really was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

“You want it? Then _show_ me you want it,” Makkonen said heatedly.

The couple locked eyes. Cora swallowed her nerves and leaned into him. She turned over on her knees and hooked her hands to the top of his pants. Makkonen lifted his hips, grinning while she tugged the clothing down.

Down.

Down.

Until the girthy, hard tool of his desire popped free.

Coralee stared at it, while he completely pulled the pants off. She’d felt that part of him rubbing against her whenever they made out, and she knew it was sizable. Seeing it unclothed was a bit daunting. Intimidating. But she found that the center of her femininity pulsed and wettened at the sight of his arousal.

Leaning back once more, Makkonen droned a low chuckle. “It won’t bite, Cora.”

“I know that!”

“You wanna touch it?”

She piped a blushing giggle.

The mountain man’s grin broadened. “I’ll take that as a yes. Go on then.”

Coralee’s eyes skirted away, shoulders bunching coyly. Then, she sighed and relaxed. Even though they were both naked, she had to convince herself there was no reason to be embarrassed. Especially since they were married now. Married couples saw each other nude all the time. They also had sex. And Cora really wanted to have Makkonen in that most intimate of ways.

Finally, exotic eyes narrowing sensuously, the young woman reached to grip his large, throbbing heat. Very slowly, she began stroking up and down its full length.

Makkonen tensed and shivered. The sight of her small hand clamped around his cock heightened the physical sensation of her massage. His eyes rolled shut, and he tipped his head back, groaning. Coralee never imagined that something so simple could bring him such pleasure, and it bolstered her confidence. She adjusted her position to use both hands, rotating her wrists, stroking a bit faster.

When she and the mountain man locked eyes, Cora clearly saw the turbulent storm of desire therein. He sat up suddenly and pulled her against him, melding his lips to hers with furied passion. Then, she was under him. Makkonen maneuvered between her legs while they kissed. He was very pent up and hadn’t expected her hand-rub to leave him so sensitive; it wouldn’t take much for him to explode.

Coralee’s arms wrapped firmly around him, and she immersed in the barrage of sensations he stirred. His sinewy stomach and chest pressed to hers. Small hands traced over his wonderfully warm skin, skimming greedily. There was just so much of him to touch. Breathing raggedly, Makkonen pulled back enough to focus on her, gliding fingers along her cheek.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

Cora took a breath and answered by gripping his firm buttocks, lifting her face to bite his lip.

Makk smiled lovingly, nuzzling. Then, he reached between them to guide his throbbing, solid heat into her. The southern beauty felt the head of his manhood draw across nether lips, and she mewled, holding her breath. Makkonen braced and push against her small opening, entering carefully and slowly, glad that she was slick and aroused.

At his initial entry, Cora gasped and squeezed her eyes shut, hands clamping to his shoulders. And he kept going, stuffing his rod into her tight space until he was in up to his balls. It was so uncomfortable and intrusive, she moaned and trembled.

“Ah..._fuck_,” Makkonen groaned. She was completely wrapped around him, securely gripping. Tight. His lips brushed hers. She was shaking terribly. “Relax, Coralee…”

The young woman barely returned his kiss, so concentrated on the new sensation of sex. So far, she couldn’t say was enjoying it much, her tiny tunnel still adjusting to her husband’s phallic invasion.

“You want to stop?” he asked gently.

Cora opened her eyes and shook her head. “No.”

“Okay.”

They fell into a kiss, and Makkonen started to thrust. Coralee clung to him, nails dug into his shoulders while he made tender love to her. He rhythmically drove his hips, rotating them, plowing his firm member into her, feeling every soft ridge grip and massage him closer to completion. Makkonen raised up on his arms and braced his hands to either side of her, giving him more leverage.

Cora’s hands remained clutched to his solid shoulders, her face turned to the side, eyes closed. All she could do was hang on for the ride. Makkonen’s pace hastened, his thrusts becoming stronger. After a few minutes, his body went taut. He tossed his head back and passionately growled out his release, shooting his seed into her. It took a moment for him to finish, rotating his hips slowly, riding out the orgasmic aftershocks.

He finally lowered his face to her neck and kissed it, then he nuzzled her nose.

Cora breathed heavily under him. She squirmed when he pulled his softening man-flesh from her and rolled aside.

Gathering deep, long breaths, Makkonen pulled her in, cuddling. “I’m sorry, _apaskwaniy_.”

She smiled softly and kissed his chest. “It’s alright, my love. It couldn’t be avoided really. I _am_ new to this. I’m sure every time will be perfect from now on.”

His arms tightened around her, and he caressed her hair. “Yes, they will. I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Cora rolled and rested over his chest, staring into his eyes. “What you said last night in Cree at the wedding ceremony, can you say it again, then translate it for me?”

Makkonen smiled and nodded, stroking the delicate curve of her cheek. “_Esa anohc yahki niyanani meskanaw ewako. Ako pimacihowin, kiya niwikimakan. Miteh tahkine ascimew, _Coralee_._ From now forward our path is one. In life and through all steps of our journey, you are my mate. My heart will forever belong to you, Coralee.”

The young woman was breathless all over again, her heart swelling in her chest. “A marriage vow…”

“Yes. I’m yours. Forever.”

“Makkonen…” she whispered, then leaned upward to kiss him. “When we first met, did you ever think we would end up here like this, together, married?”

The large man smiled and shrugged, tucking one hand behind his head. “Well, I had hoped. But I saw that Declan loved you, so I pushed such desires aside. I thought you two were together at first and really didn’t want to intrude.”

“I appreciate that, but I chose you.”

“Yes, you did. And I am so lucky.”

Cora folded her hands over his chest, resting her chin on them. She smiled vaguely. “Back shortly after we arrived here, Declan invited me to his tipi for a romantic dinner. We finished eating, and he kissed me. I kissed him back, and it was then that I realized it was always you I wanted.”

“How’s that?” Makkonen stroked her hair.

“His kiss wasn’t bad, it just...didn’t feel as right as when we kissed in that cave.”

“Mm. As much as I don’t like the thought of you and Declan being intimate in _any_ way, I will say I’m glad you two kissed. It brought you to your senses and made you see who you were really meant to be with, because you sure were being stubborn, woman.”

They laughed a bit.

Cora fiddled fingers over his chest, pondering. “Makkonen?”

“Mm?”

“Do you ever think about what would’ve happened if we never met? I mean, if events didn’t go as they had?”

“No, _apaskwaniy_, can’t say I have.”

“I just keep thinking that if one little thing had gone differently, I wouldn’t be where I am now, with you. If I hadn’t ran away from that plantation, gotten north to Montreal, almost gotten taken by the slavecatchers, gotten saved by Declan, and up to the far north...I wouldn’t have met you, and the thought of that scares me.” Her arm hugged tightly across his middle.

The mountain man lifted a gentle smile, lips sweeping her brow. “But we _did_ meet and we’re together now. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes, it is.” Cora studied him, tantalizing eyes narrowing playfully. “How old are you?”

Makkonen gave her a sour look that was shrouded in humor. “Old enough.”

“C’mon, tell me. You know how old I am.”

“Mm. Almost thirty-three.”

“So...you’re five years from twice my age. Hm…”

“That too old for you?” he joked.

“Not at all. I always did find older men more interesting, more seasoned, I guess.”

Makkonen chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm.” Cora leaned to nuzzle his bearded chin. She pondered something. “How did you get the tribal name ‘Iron Bull’?”

“I was a solid boy, always big for my age. Other youngins realized I was not one to bully, that I wouldn’t budge to their will. So, I earned the name.”

“I see.” She nodded thoughtfully.

The newlyweds talked a bit more and ate some of the stew Coralee prepared. After the teeniest bit of probing, the young woman convinced her husband to indulge in a second round of intimacy, which she found to be much more enjoyable than the first.


	16. Ass-Kick Lights

The next morning, Makkonen awakened before Coralee. He happily laid beside her and caressed her brow. The mountain man almost couldn’t believe she was his. She stirred and woke up to his kisses.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling.

“Were you watching me sleep?”

“Yes.”

Cora chuckled softly. “I’m sure I look like a monster with crud in my eyes and my hair all over my head.” In the wake of all the lovemaking, she’d forgotten to braid her hair before they went to sleep.

Makkonen droned with low laughter. “A beautiful monster, whom I love.”

“And just what do you love about me, hm?” She rubbed her eyes and rolled over, nestling closer to him, enjoying his warmth.

“Um, okay. Where to start? I hope you have a couple of days to lie here.”

Cora giggled.

“You’re smart, strong, resilient, funny, and obviously beautiful, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And you’re worth so much more than I could ever give you…”

The caramel-skinned woman pulled herself on top of him, locking gazes. “_You_ are more than enough for me, and I’m right where I want to be. I love you, my Iron Bull.”

“My beautiful _apaskwaniy_.” Makkonen tightened his embrace around her. “I love you more than you know, and I will never let you go.”

“Good, ‘cuz I don’t plan on goin’ anywhere.” A broad smile lit across her face, then she wiggled her hips, kissing him, small hand trailing down over his chest, stomach, and lower. She began rubbing his semi-hard cock.

“Mm.” Makk heated further under her. He pulled back from the kiss, smiled, and gently rolled her off. “I need you to put a temporary hold on that, my sweet.”

“Why?” she pouted.

“Because I’m going to make a run to the food stores to grab some things. That way we can hole up in here all day mating like rabbits and not worry about leaving.”

Cora laughed and smacked his arm. “That does sound like a good idea. While you do that, I’ll fetch a couple buckets of water so we can wash up.”

“Alright.”

Makkonen pulled on his pants, boots, shirt, and coat. Coralee also dressed, not far behind him. The mountain man pecked her a kiss, then exited the tipi. He took a couple of steps, then stopped abruptly, his very broad smile fading.

Standing on the path a short distance away was Declan. The Wolf and his party had returned sometime in the night and gotten wind of the prompt marriage. He stepped once towards his tribe-brother, a shadow cast over his harsh features. “Is it true?”

Makkonen sighed, but no words came. His expression told all.

An instant later, Cora emerged from the tipi wrapped in her fur coat. She hugged her husband from behind.

“Well, you didn’t get far, did you?” She giggled. Seeing how serious and focused Makk was, staring straight ahead, Cora moved around him, and her stomach sank as the hurt on Declan’s face intensified. He was a man who hid his feelings well, but they were displayed boldly now. “Declan…”

The Wolf turned and strode off.

Coralee rushed after him, and Makkonen remained where he stood, the utmost sympathy swimming in the depths of his brown eyes.

“Declan, wait!” Cora called. “Please!”

The frontiersman continued quickly down the path, passing tipi residences. Cora had to hurry ahead, scrambling around him, blocking the way. Declan stopped and met her large, lovely eyes.

“You said you’d wait for me…” he uttered.

“I...didn’t plan for the marriage, Declan. It was as much of a surprise to me when I found out the next day. But Makkonen did it to protect me. And because...because he loves me.”

Something cracked deep within his chest, his trampled heart skipping a beat. He turned his face, unable to look upon her. He hadn’t felt that distraught in some time.

Cora felt terrible, but she couldn’t deny her feelings for Makkonen. “Are you angry with me?”

Declan sighed and finally looked at her again. “No. You two have been getting closer. What did I expect?” He shook his head, furious that he let himself get wedged into such a position, swimming in feelings and vulnerable because of it. “You love him, not me. That’s the end of it, I guess.”

“Oh, Declan,” a thin stream of tears leaked from her eyes, and she stepped in close to him, wanting to hug him but knowing it wasn’t the thing to do right then. “I also love you.”

“Just not the same.”

There came a long pause, Cora unable to look away. More tears plummeted down her cheeks, and she shook her head, the next word coming out so faintly it was almost unheard. “No. I...I might have if he had never come along. But I love Makkonen. I have from the start. The way I feel with him, I’ve never felt it with anyone else. I never meant to lead you on; I didn’t think that I was. I’m so sorry…”

“You didn’t lead me on, Coralee. I guess I only saw what I wanted to.”

The young woman sniffled. “You’re one of the best friends I have, and I don’t want this to come between us or to pull you and Makkonen apart. You’re like brothers.”

“It won’t. I will always care about you, and I cannot fault him because you chose him. Hell, maybe I should’ve just asked you to marry me while I still had a chance. But I never really had a chance, did I?” At that, his whole demeanor stiffened, and he stalked off.

Cora stared at his back, her vision blurred by another round of tears. It hurt tremendously to see him so torn. She would give him space and time. That’s what he needed.

◄☼►

Makkonen and Coralee stuck to their original plan; he gathered some food items from the tribe’s stores, and she fetched a couple of pails of water to heat on their fire for washing up. They had what they needed now so they could stay holed up in their tipi all day, but the mood wasn’t as romantic as it was before Declan’s confrontation.

The couple decided to lay around for a while and talk, and it wasn’t until the serving of the evening meal when they finally left their home for the dining lodge. Coralee wasn’t going to go at first, embarrassed and not wanting to run into Declan. Makkonen convinced her that getting out and about with their people was the best thing to do. Yes, there might be gossip and whispers, but it would become old news fast and fade off.

Cora’s concern wasn’t with gossiping villagers. She was worried about Declan, how hurt he must be because of how things went down. As she sat across from her husband at one of the many tables in the lodge, picking through her meal, her hazel vision swept through the busy room. Cora expected to see dozens of pairs of eyes speculating and judging her, yet no one paid more attention than usual.

“_Apaskwaniy_,” Makkonen droned thickly.

Coralee’s eyes veered to him, seeing that he smiled very sensuously at her.

“You should eat more, because I don’t plan on sleeping much when we get back home. You’ll need your energy.”

The young woman chuckled softly at him. “Is that so?”

“It is. I’ll always be here for Declan, and he’ll get over all this. But we shouldn’t deny ourselves. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I know.” She nodded.

“Good. Now, go on and eat. We have a lot of energy to spend before the night is done.” The mountain man sent her a sly wink.

Coralee giggled.

The couple continued their dinner and flirting. A couple of shadows cast across them, and they looked up at Krem and Sokanon.

“Mind if we sit?” voiced Sokanon.

“Of course not.” Makkonen smiled at them.

Unable to help herself, Krem dipped in and hugged tightly around the large man’s shoulders from behind, her cheek pressed to his. “_Saweyi_, brother! Never thought I’d see the day!”

Makk smirked but patted a hand on her forearm. “My mother said the same thing. Thanks, little sister.”

Sokanon’s eyes went between Coralee and Makk. She lowered and pressed a kiss to her tribe-brother’s bearded cheek, taking a seat beside his wife. “I’m happy for you both.”

“Thank you,” Cora said, sighing inwardly. Perhaps, things weren’t as weird or bad as she thought. She was sure both Sokanon and Krem saw the love triangle. A lot of the villagers probably did. “How did things go out there?”

Krem took the chair next to Makkonen and snatched some meat from his plate. “Robbed that stupid HBC silly.”

“Hey,” the mountain man protested, nudging her. “Go make a plate, runt.”

“Why? Already got one right here,” Krem retorted, grinning. She loved playing around with him.

Sokanon smiled lightly at them, speaking to Coralee. “We didn’t lose anyone, so everything went well.”

“And what of the boy and the priest?” Makkonen entered.

“The priest is soft as a pig’s belly, not much help with the raids. But Michael Smyth, he saved Dimanche’s life. He’s part of the Black Wolf Company now,” said Sokanon. “Declan thinks he can use him to get to Benton.”

“He and the priest down at the camp by the river?” Makkonen asked.

“Yep,” said Krem.

“Mm.” He nodded. “That means Declan will want to head back south soon.”

“Yes,” said Sokanon. ”He said we’re leaving in three days.”

◄☼►

“I’m going too.” Cora engaged in a staring contest with her husband.

The following morning, Mohco came to their tipi just after dawn and passed a message: Declan wanted to talk with Makkonen about preparations to leave for Fort James. Coralee had pulled her clothes on too and accompanied Makk to the dining lodge, where Declan, Sokanon, and Krem sat near the low-burning hearth. Coralee quietly listened and fiddled her hands while they talked. She’d decided she would be part of the traveling party.

Makkonen’s eyes narrowed, his brow flattened. “There’s no need for that, Cora. You’re part of the Tribe, so you can stay here, where you’ll be safe.”

“Safe from who? Ya’ll killed most of the slavecatchers.” The beauty stood her ground, hazel eyes glued to her husband. “Angus ran back south; too bad he didn’t get eaten by a bear on the way down. I don’t have to run anymore.”

“That’s right, you don’t. So, you’re staying here,” Makkonen said sternly.

Declan, Sokanon, and Krem observed the couple. They all thought it better if Coralee stayed behind as well, yet no one dared to interject, lest they face the petite woman’s wrath.

“No, I’m going.”

“Cora—”

“You’re my husband, and I’m going with you. That’s final.”

The tall, hulking man sighed, exasperated. “Woman…”

“Don’t ‘woman’ me, Makkonen. You can try to leave me here if you want to, and I will follow right after you. I’m going, and that’s the end of it.” Coralee lifted her chin, turned, and marched off, her soft, fluffy hair bouncing.

Silence enveloped the space, and the hearth fire snapped.

Sokanon whistled.

Krem chuckled.

Declan wasn’t smiling, still quite displeased with the turn of events. But wry amusement coated his expression because he thought Makkonen was getting exactly what he deserved. Declan firmly smacked his tribe-brother on the shoulder. “Welcome to married life.”

Makkonen closed his eyes a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. His wife was by far the stubbornest person he’d ever met.

Sokanon took that moment to tap Krem’s arm, nodding away. Both women hated to see the discord laced throughout their close group of friends. They, Makkonen, Declan, Dimanche, and Samoset were as bonded as could be. The drama between Declan, Coralee, and Makkonen had nudged that bond, and both the frontiersman and the mountain man needed to settle things between them.

So, Sokanon and Krem left the two men alone. There was no one else in the dining lodge that early in the morning.

Declan watched after them a moment, then turned to Makkonen. So many words tumbled around in his mind then, and most of them were profanities. His eyes leveled on Makk, and he took a breath. “What did you think you were doing? You had no right to marry her like that.”

“I did what needed to be done so Cora could be part of this tribe, so she would be protected.” Makkonen leaned to a fat wooden support post, his dark eyes observant and keen.

Declan snorted. “You acted out of selfishness and spite, because you didn’t want me to have her. All you had to do was back off and leave her be.”

The mountain man shook his head and sighed heavily. “I won’t stand here and lie. I knew the instant I met up with you and Cora down at the cabin that you were in love with her. And even though I fell in love when I saw her, I stepped back, brother. For you. Because I knew your heart needed to mend and that she could’ve been the one to heal it. But she...she came to me, and she kept coming to me, and we talked, got to know each other better. We just...bonded. Neither of us wanted to hurt you, Declan. We love each other, and I won’t apologize for that, but I _am_ sorry it didn’t go the way you wanted.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“But…” Declan released a sigh that took the edge from his angry expression, “you’re still my brother. The more I think about it, the more I realize it wouldn’t have mattered what I did or how much I tried to make Coralee mine. She would’ve ended up with you anyway. It was all right there in front of me. She was beginning to open up more to me before we got to the cabin, then she met you. She looks at you the way...the way Nuna used to look at me.”

The Cree Irishman closed his eyes, relishing in memories of his dead wife. He had to accept that part of his life, the happiness he experienced, would never return. When Nuna and Mikinok died, they took that chance for true happiness with them. Declan no longer believed he'd ever reach such blissful heights again. Not with Grace; that time had passed. Certainly not with Coralee. Not with anyone. He was the Black Wolf, and the Black Wolf walked alone.

There was one thing he did possess, though, something that would _always_ be his. Hatred and the thirst for vengeance. Lord Benton was the dark side of the coin, and their fates were connected through Declan’s rage. It was all so simple in the end. Declan knew he’d always love Cora, but he could drown those feelings with hatred and anger. Benton was his one true love, what he despised _and_ craved. He was going to kill that old fucker. Or Benton would kill him.

Declan finally stepped before Makkonen. He put his hand out. Makkonen moved from his lean and reached. They gripped one another’s forearms.

“We’ll always be brothers,” came Declan’s deep voice. “Let’s move past this.”

“Alright.”

“Just know that if you ever try to take another woman from me, I will kill you.” Dark humor floated in Declan’s eyes.

“Noted.”

The frontiersman released Makkonen’s arm and walked off, leaving Makk to smile faintly after him.

◄☼►

Makkonen was very happy to have the air cleared between him and Declan. His tribe-brother was usually a very sharp-minded man, but his love for Coralee had him galloping like a horse with blinders down a path of denial. It was good that Declan acknowledged his own lack of attention to the fine details. Had he simply stepped back and watched Coralee and Makkonen together, he would’ve known they were in love.

The mountain man left the dining lodge right after his tribe-brother, heading for his tipi. He wanted to talk with Coralee about her decision to leave out with them, perhaps convince her to change her mind. A person fell in beside him, and he looked down at her and smiled.

“Good morning, mother.”

“Good morning, my son. How are things going with you and Coralee?”

“Oh, well, you know. Very good.” His smile broadened.

Miyotehew grinned. “Is that so?”

“Mm.”

“By ‘very good’, you mean I will get a grandchild soon, right?”

“Mother…” Makkonen smirked and rolled his eyes.

The _okimaw_ chimed low, rich laughter. Then, she went more serious. “I wanted to tell you something. When you asked me how I thought the Council would vote regarding Coralee’s stay with the tribe, I lied.”

“What?” Makkonen stopped and stared down at her.

“They had already decided unanimously to allow her citizenship.”

“Then, why did you lie?”

“Well,” she shrugged, eyes veering guiltily away, “I knew you two were well on the way to becoming one, and I just really wanted to see you married. So, I lied.”

Makkonen’s gaze narrowed upon his mother, and he crossed arms over his broad chest. “So...you did it to force us into marriage.”

“I didn’t force anything. I only implied marriage as a solution so she could stay.”

“But she was already going to be granted citizenship.”

“Yes, I know.” Miyotehew grinned at his expression. “Don’t look at me like that. I only wanted you to be happy, and you are, married to a fine woman. Besides, you didn’t have to marry her without her consent. You could’ve asked.”

“Don’t try to flip this around on me.” But it was already flipped. The cunning woman had a way of doing that. Makkonen shook his head again. “What am I going to do with you?”

“You will do what all good sons do for their mothers. You will continue to love me.”

“That’s for sure.” His arms embraced her, lips skimming her brow.

Miyotehew stepped back to fix her eyes on his. She looked serious again. “Something else you need to know. Piwan came to speak with me last night. She has decided to move to the River Dweller village. I know how she feels about you, and it seems your marriage to Coralee is too much.”

“I see.”

“You should go talk with her.”

“I will.”

Miyotehew reached to pat his bearded cheek, then moved off.

◄☼►

Makkonen decided he’d catch his wife later after she finished her chores. For now, he needed to speak with Piwan. _Properly_ speak with her. Their minor spat outside the dining lodge a month ago had left them both at odds. He’d tried to smooth things over, offering smiles whenever he saw her out and about the village, but she would always redirect her eyes and hurry off.

And now she was leaving, a good childhood friend of over twenty years.

Makk reached her tipi, put his hand out, and paused before wrapping knuckles to the wood plank. At first, he thought she might not be inside, then the flap pulled back. Piwan instantly stiffened at the hulking, handsome man. She wasn’t sure what to do, her expression an amalgam of pain, sadness, defeat, and lovesickness. Her eyes swayed from his.

The mountain man sighed. “Can I come in?”

Piwan stepped out of the way. Once Makkonen ducked inside, she dropped the flap back into place. Under any other circumstances, she would’ve been happy to welcome him into her space. There were so many times when she imagined him coming home to her after a hunt, ready to make love, then hold her afterwards while they listened to the fire and basked in its warmth together.

But all she felt was cold.

It had been a while since Makkonen stood in her tipi, visiting to play cards, tiles, or just talk. He slowly turned, observing everything. The ghost of a smile claimed his features. “I remember when you moved in here, away from your parents. You were eighteen and so excited to be out on your own, even though they’re just down the way.”

“You didn’t come here to talk about my tipi, Makkonen. You came because your mother told you I was leaving.”

He faced her, peering down heavily. “Yes, she did. Why?”

Piwan chuffed a dry laugh. “Why do you care if I go?”

“Because you mean a lot to me. You’ve been one of my best friends since we were kids.” The words were delivered softly, packed with emotion.

“Yeah. But we’re all grown up, and you don’t need me anymore. Now you’ve got a precious new wife.” She didn’t mean to sound snappy, but she couldn’t help it.

“Piwan,” Makkonen started. He reached to touch her arm, and she stepped back. “I’m sorry I couldn’t love you the way you wanted me to.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry too.”

“Please stay with the tribe.”

Tears glimmered in her eyes. She shook her head, voice cracking, “I can’t. Just thinking about you with that woman makes my heart hurt, and when I see you together, it feels like my heart has been ripped from my chest. And it just leaves me dead inside. I can’t stay here. I need to go. And so do you…”

The woman pulled open the tipi flap and looked outside, unwilling to meet his eyes. That was Makkonen’s cue to leave. He sighed and did so quietly.

◄☼►

Coralee finished her chores, then shifted to the dining lodge to grab something to eat. She considered seeking out her pigheaded husband to share the meal but was still irritated with him for trying to keep her in the village. She knew Makkonen only wanted to protect her, though, and that’s why she was only irritated and not angry.

She moved through the village after she ate, and as she passed through the square where the tall totem rose, she spotted Miyotehew sitting on a bench made from a sanded slab of oak.

The _okimaw_ smiled and waved her over.

Coralee approached.

Miyotehew patted the place beside her.

Cora sat. She smiled at the older woman. “You knew he was marrying me without my consent.”

Miyotehew nodded. “It was kind of my idea, though I thought he would ask you first.”

“And you just let it happen?”

“I foresaw your arrival not long before you came; the spirits spoke of it.”

“Spirits?” Coralee’s hazel eyes fixed curiously on her.

“Yes. My people are tuned into this world on many levels. _Cahkapes_, the moon spirit, spoke of a strange acquaintance whose path was long-traveled and full of hardship. You came from the southern American colonies all the way up here, and it was anything but easy for you. This I know.”

Coralee listened silently, strangely calmed by the _okimaw’s_ presence.

“My husband, dead for some time, came from the south too,” Miyotehew said. “He was such a big, handsome man. Did Makkonen speak to you of his father?”

“Yes. He told me a little. That he was an escaped slave, like me.”

Miyo nodded. “He was. That commonality is part of what pulled you and Makkonen together. He loves you more than you know, and you care deeply for him. I see it clearly in the way you look at each other, the way you are when you’re together.”

“Yes, I do love him very much.” Cora’s heart brimmed to think of her husband.

“I’m glad he’s found a fitting mate.” Miyo lifted a smile. “He’s never been more grounded than he is now. You are perfect for him.”

The young beauty blushed at the praise. “I’m lucky to have him.”

“I never thought he would settle. It makes me very happy knowing I’ll be a grandmother soon.” She chortled out hearty laughter at the look on Cora’s face.

◄☼►

The day before Declan and the others were to leave, the northern lights appeared, as they mysteriously did during that time of year. The whole tribe was out that night, gathered in the village square standing around bonfires for warmth while watching the array of colors ease across a starry mural.

Coralee had never seen anything like it. She sat on a fur-padded crate beside Makkonen, bundled up, leaning into him. The mountain man’s arm draped around her, holding her close.

“I thought the sunset over those cotton fields was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, but this...I…,” she observed the shimmering colors beyond the plateau, dancing slowly high above, “I don’t even have words. What is it? How is it happening?”

Makkonen relished her dazzlement. It was great sharing the experience with someone who’d never witnessed it before. “It’s always happened. Cree call the lights _askihk yahyewin_. The earth’s breath. The colors represent her happiness, yet she is also saddened by the evils of man, and her breath is sent to cleanse the land.”

“It’s so beautiful, so majestic.” Cora hugged into him. “Like you.”

Makkonen chuckled, nuzzling her hair. “_Apaskwaniy_.”

“How often does this..._ass-kick you-ya_”—she blurted laughter, knowing she slaughtered the Cree wording—“happen?”

He rumbled hearty laughter. “Woman, we need to work on your Cree. _Askihk yawyewin_. The earth’s breath comes in the winter.”

“So, I’ll get to see this every year?”

“Yes.”

Coralee sighed happily. “Good. Just another reason to love being up here. You’re reason number one, though.”

“Mm.” His brow lifted, voice lowering even though there was plenty of talk and celebrating around them. “You know, we can cut out of here early, go home, get naked, and do bad things.”

“No!” she trilled out soft laughter. “This is my first time with _ass-kick_ lights.”

“It’ll be around for the next couple of weeks.”

“And we leave tomorrow, so I intend to stay right here and admire this beautiful vision...for another hour. Then we can go home, get naked, and do bad things.”

Makkonen grinned and nuzzled her cheek. As quickly as he thought again to convince her to reconsider and stay behind, he quelled the urge. Doing so would most likely irritate her, which meant no love would be made that night, and she would _still_ end up going with them. “Sounds like a plan.”

◄☼►

Down in the camp by the river, accompanied by the three trappers, Michael and Father Coffin watched the slow waves of color transitioning across the night sky. The young Irishman was captivated. The New World was a harsh place, but it certainly had its hits of beauty and wonder.

He sighed heavily, thinking of his precious Clenna. The day Michael first stepped off the ship and into a shit storm, Lord Benton drafted the order to remove her from prison and transport her to Fort James. Soon, Michael would hold his love again.


	17. The Nice Shot

Miyotehew wasn’t present to see every traveling party off, Declan and his warriors came and went so often these days. But she was there to see them off the next morning. The _okimaw_ heard that Coralee wanted to leave with them, and she was against it. As her son said, the young woman was stubborn.

Miyo approached the group that had assembled by the main path from the village. Declan, Makkonen, Coralee, Sokanon, and Krem. Krem wasn’t going. The Council asked her to remain with the Tribe to help keep their defenses fortified. The tough, strong woman was just as happy to stay behind, looking after her people. She was out there to see her tribe-sister and brothers off.

The group routinely checked their gear.

With her curly tresses all contained and braided for travel, Cora was ready. She smiled at Miyotehew, who’d stopped before her.

“I really wish you’d stay here,” said Miyo, embracing her daughter-in-law. “You traveled so far and encountered so much danger. You’d be safe within the village.”

“I know.” Cora hugged her back. “But right now, my place is with my husband.”

The _okimaw_ made one more attempt to dissuade. “For all you know, you could be carrying my grandchild. You should stay.”

The dimples in Coralee’s cheeks deepened when she smiled, shaking her head. She rolled her eyes and looked to Makkonen. “I’m surprised you didn’t use this one to try and guilt-trip me.”

“Oh, I thought about it,” he retorted, adjusting his axe on his back.

Cora chuckled, looking to Miyotehew. “I’m sure it’ll be a little while yet before you get a grandchild.” She pulled her pack on.

Declan and Sokanon stood by, watching and listening.

“Alright, time for us to move out, mother,” said Makkonen.

“You better take care of her,” Miyo replied. “All of you be safe and return to your home. May the spirits watch over you.”

At that, the traveling party headed down the path, away, leaving Krem and the _okimaw_ looking after them.

◄☼►

While Michael and Father Coffin were no longer being treated as prisoners, the young Irishman noticed that the three trappers—Francois, Gaston, and Rene—still watched him and the father closely.

Movement came at the edge of camp, and Michael stood. Sokanon appeared first, then Declan, Makkonen, and a petitely built woman Michael had never seen before. She was so exotically attractive that he couldn’t help but stare.

Makkonen stepped in front of him, glowering down. “Something wrong with your eyes?”

“Huh? Uh...no.” Michael cleared his throat and took a step back from the overbearing man.

“Then fix them on something else.”

Declan chuckled lowly, setting his bag down. “Be nice. He’s with us now.”

“Mm.” Makkonen rumbled.

Coralee conjured a humored smirk, moving around her husband. She addressed the young Irishman. “Excuse him. He can be very protective at times.”

Michael’s eyes flicked to the huge man, then back to her. He smiled a little. “Well, I kin understand that. He only wants to keep ye safe. I’m Michael.”

“Coralee.” She offered a gloved hand, which he shook only _after_ shooting Makk a cautious glance.

“Nice to meet ye.” Michael took a breath and faced Makkonen. “See. Just a harmless greeting. Nothing more.”

The mountain man’s eyes narrowed, then he spun about to put his gear down as well. Francois, Gaston, and Rene had already started disassembling camp. Everything was on schedule, and they’d be on their way south in an hour at most.

Father Coffin wasn’t one for conflict. He stayed near the fire with the arrival of the others, observant. He was glad to be heading back to Fort James. It wasn’t the most extravagant settlement and could even be called a piddling backwater. But it was civilization. And that’s what he craved. Being out there with the Black Wolf Company, caught up amidst the raiding and killing, wasn’t for him. But it was satisfying to see them sticking hard blows to the HBC.

The priest lifted a smile at Coralee when she moved to the fire. “Good morning, dear child.”

“Father—?” she looked questioningly at him.

“Oh. Coffin. James Coffin.”

“Father Coffin, please don’t come at me with all that Jesus mess. I came from the south, born and raised in slavery. And you know what Jesus is to me? A dead white man on a cross that the master had all our black asses worshipping and praying to, that’s what. The whole thing is used to control people.” The priest’s smile faded as he listened. Cora eased to sit, putting her hands out towards the flames, rubbing them together. “I don’t care what you believe in, just don’t go trying to influence me with it.”

Declan had been smiling through her whole outburst. He also strongly believed that the Europeans used religion as a means of control.

“I...well...I’m sorry.” Coffin sat as well.

Cora inhaled and huffed out a sigh. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. It’s just...I watched overseers whip slaves in the name of Jesus, making them believe their own dark skin was a curse and that they needed _Him_ to be saved. So, I really don’t want it in my face.”

“I understand,” Father Coffin replied softly.

“Other than that, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Coffin.” Cora brimmed a smile and put her hand out to him.

“Thank you.” He gently shook it.

Makkonen dropped to one knee on Cora’s other side. He pulled free a small blade in a leather sheath. “Here.”

The young woman made a face. “What’s that for?”

“So you can protect yourself.”

“I brought my slingshot along.”

The mountain man smiled gently. “And I don’t doubt you can kill someone with it, little woman, but if anyone ever gets close enough to put their hands on you, slingshot won’t do you any good. Take it.”

Coralee’s eyes searched his dark gaze, then she reached for the blade. It was half the size of the one he carried. She removed it from its sheath, and firelight gleamed along the metal. Makkonen carefully took the knife.

“You ever find yourself up-close and personal with an attacker, stab like this and twist the blade. It'll hurt like hell, and the wound won't close.” Makkonen demonstrated as he spoke.

Cora took her knife back, mimicking what he just did, thrusting it firmly, turning it. “Stab and twist.”

“That’s right. You got it. There are slits on the sheath so you can wear it on your coat ties.”

“Well, that’s handy.” She grinned at him. “Thanks, my love.”

“If you insist on being out here when you don’t have to be, then I need to make sure you can take care of yourself,” the large man said dryly, clearly still upset that she chose to leave with them. He sighed, gave her a tender smile, kissed her forehead, then rose to his towering height and helped with the last of the breakdown.

Father Coffin watched the half negro, half Cree man move off. His eyes veered to Cora, his voice low. “God help anyone who’s stupid enough to come between you and him. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that axe.”

“Yeah…” Cora smiled faintly in her husband’s direction, instantly recalling how furious and powerful he looked while standing over Shane’s headless body.

◄☼►

They set out, heading southeast, and while it was bitter cold in the early morning hours, clear blue skies and plenty of sunlight made for a rather pleasant traveling. However, it was mid-winter, and anyone familiar with far northern weather knew that more snow would come.

A couple of hours before the sun went down, Declan and his group reached a large camp at the outskirts of Forest Cree land, manned by half a dozen scouts. It was atop a flat hill, flanked by forest. Serving as a Cree outpost, it offered an open view of the stretching woodlands to the south leading into the Undisputed Territory. Coralee was happy to see that they used lean-tos for shelter, which were smaller than tipis but larger than tents, and certainly more preferable to sleeping in the open on a thin bed of furs.

Once Cora and Makkonen readied a lean-to and secured their traveling gear, they joined the others around one of several fires to enjoy a meal of roasted pheasant and root vegetables. They talked as they ate, with Declan speaking the least. The rugged man consumed his meal slowly. Cora’s eyes went to him a few times, watching him stare into the flames. It was as if he’d blocked out everyone, content to get lost in his thoughts.

The southern beauty scooted closer to her husband, who was engaged in a conversation with Sokanon about the white man’s reach into the north. The two had very different views.

“No, I don’t think they’ll ever get up far enough to bother us and our village,” answered Sokanon, her chin lifting adamantly. “We’d destroy them the moment they set foot in our territories.”

Makkonen shrugged. “I think you’re being naive.”

“How so?”

“Just look how things are now,” he said. “The Europeans keep coming and building their settlements. They keep spreading. You haven’t been down into America, but I have. The whites arrived there in ships and proceeded to kill our Huron and Cherokee brothers and sisters, and any other tribes they encountered. Then, they brought people with skin like mine and Cora’s over to serve them. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but one day the Cree _will_ have to face the same. We'll have to fight or die.”

Sokanon watched him in thoughtful silence a moment. “You really believe that?”

“Yes. Places like Fort James and Montreal, they’re only going to get bigger, and the Europeans will continue to come. Using their guns and armies, they’ll continue to feed the delusion that they’re better than everyone else. They’ll continue taking what doesn’t belong to them, fucking over the rest of us because they believe they’re entitled to do so.”

“He’s right,” entered Declan. That was the most he’d said since they sat around the fire to eat.

“Well, ye can’t lump all us Europeans together,” said Michael eagerly. “It’s the English mostly. Us Irish keep to ourselves, don’t care much for bothering folks.”

Coralee lifted a brow at the young man and sent a wry smile. “You should tell my former slave master that; his family is Irish.”

“Oh...well...sorry…” said Michael softly.

Cora chuckled a bit. “Why are you apologizing? You ain’t do nothin’. I certainly haven’t judged you based on the actions of other white people. I know a lot of good whites, some of which I stayed with back in Montreal before I got up here to the far north.”

Declan set his empty plate aside, eyes going to everyone around the fire. “One man’s actions do not carry over to another. Everyone is accountable for themselves. The concepts of good and evil exist in every person, and every person makes their own decisions.”

“Well said,” piped Father Coffin. “And I want it to be known that though I have been dry of booze since she”—brown eyes swept to Sokanon—“snatched me from Fort James, I fully intend to drown myself in several pints the moment we get back.”

Michael chuckled. “Ye sure about that? You’ve been so much more tolerable since ye stopped drinkin’.”

“Oh, yes. I’m quite sure.”

Coralee smiled at the priest, then drew her eyes sideways to behold her husband’s handsome profile, skimmed by firelight that accentuated the fine angles of his face. She gave a dramatic yawn and stretch. “Perhaps, we should head to bed. You do have the midwatch.”

Amusement frosted Makkonen’s features, and he lifted a brow at her. “It’s still early. Surely you can wait another hour or so.”

“No. _Now_,” Cora firmly insisted.

The mountain man was very familiar with the fierce desire burning in her eyes, and the sight of it made his loins tighten. “Mm, okay. If the little lady says it’s time for bed, then I guess it’s time for bed. Goodnight.”

Makk stood and offered his hand to Cora, who lifted to her feet. She shyly headed off with her husband.

Sokanon chuckled lowly. “She’s bossy. I like it.”

Everyone knew the lovely woman had pulled her man away for some intimate time.

Michael laughed. He locked eyes with those of the Cree warrioress across the fire, and _something_ passed between them. She didn’t appear as hard and unforgiving. Michael cleared his throat and looked away.

“I’m going on watch,” Declan said. He wanted to smile and be happy for the Hightowers, but the wound was still raw. Very. He stood and moved off.

◄☼►

Their lean-to circled a fire with two others, making for very little privacy; any noise they made would undoubtedly be heard by anyone occupying the shelters around them. Cora ducked inside first, the ceiling of the wood and hide structure not quite high enough for her to fully stand. It was, however, very spacious. Makkonen lit the lantern in the corner, then rolled down the hide wall and secured it, effectively hiding them from the rest of the world.

As soon as he turned around, she jumped on him.

The man chuckled and lay back on the furs. He peered heatedly up at her. “Mm. Someone is anxious.”

“I can’t get enough of you,” Cora breathed, straddling him. She rubbed her pelvis to his, feeling the hard-on through their clothes.

“I see.” Makk gripped her hips firmly, grinding up against her. A sensuously devilish smile hung on his face. “I’ll give you what you crave if you promise to be quiet. Those other lean-tos are pretty close.”

Cora lowered to emblazon him with a kiss, all but moaning with need. “Yes. Quiet.” She nibbled his lip.

Their clothes came off swiftly.

Coralee rested on the furs watching Makkonen hungrily as he positioned between her thighs. She linked slender arms around his neck and wrapped slim legs around his waist, gasping lusciously when he entered her, filling every bit of her womanly heat. Makkonen groaned, his large, solid body trembling against her. It took only a moment for him to adjust to the tight, wet clamp of her around him, then he started to thrust.

By the quaint, secretive light of their lantern, the couple made passionate love. Cora’s hands caressed their way over the sinewy flesh of his shoulders as she rotated her hips beneath him. She gripped around his torso and sucked on his tongue, lost in the kiss they shared. Very skilled in gauging what his sexual partners wanted, Makkonen smiled against Cora’s soft lips and dropped more of his weight on her, grinding his pulsing heat into her.

The young woman moaned softly, biting down on her lip to keep from fully crying out, the pleasure was so intense. “Harder…”

Makkonen obliged by fluidly shifting his hands, planting them below her thighs. That position not only lifted her legs higher but also spread them more, allowing him to fuck her deep. The burly man threw his hips against her.

“_Oh my gooood!_” Cora breathed, trembling. Every thunderous slam of his body sent electrifying ripples through her loins. It felt so wonderful, tears bloomed in her eyes. And then he stroked the perfect key. “Oooo...MMMM…_AAHHH!_”

“Shhh, _apaskwaniy,_” Makkonen’s hot breath fell across her face, then he gently covered her mouth. He stopped thrusting and smiled at her. “You promised to be quiet.”

“Mm,” Cora wiggled languidly under him. She giggled and kissed him. “I can’t help it. You feel so good.”

“You feel _unbelievable_, but we still have to keep it down.”

The young beauty grinned. “Okay.”

“You promise this time?”

“Yes.”

Makkonen chuckled and nipped her chin. “Liar.”

Cora’s grin intensified.

The mountain man proceeded to make love to his wife, eventually giving up on trying to mute her cries of rapture.

◄☼►

The orange glow of the dawn sun hovered just above the treetops to the east, diffused by the atmosphere, muted by a light cloud cover. Declan and the others set out from the Cree post early, traveling south. By noon, the clouds dried up, leaving the sky fresh and blue.

The group came to a place where the path running alongside a stream became narrow and forced them to travel in a line, spaced out well. Declan walked at point, while Makkonen took the rear.

As soon as the path widened, taking them back into the trees, Sokanon matched pace with Coralee. A thin smile pressed her lips. She said in a low voice, “You two made a bit of noise last night.”

Cora snatched eyes to Sokanon, a blush riding up her neck. She looked over her shoulder to Makkonen, who was a good distance behind them, then quickly turned back around.

Sokanon chuckled. “It wasn’t as bad as you think. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Cora finally smiled, laughing softly. Her voice was just above a whisper. “I’ll be sure to hold it down next time.”

“If you can.” The Cree woman spared a look back at Makkonen as well, waiting until he met her smiling eyes before facing forward again.

The large man smirked. He knew her mischievous expression well.

“Sokanon?”

“Yes?” She spared a look over at Coralee as they moved through the snow-blanketed forest.

“Declan never speaks of his family. He told me...what happened to them, but not much else.” Cora’s tongue darted to wet her lips. “He also told me that Nuna was your sister.”

Sokanon sighed and nodded.

“What was she like?” Cora had thought on that for a while. She believed getting information about the Cree Irishman’s past would help to connect the two of them further and strengthen their friendship.

“Well,” a thin smile glazed over Sokanon. “Nuna was the kindest person I knew. She cared about others more than herself.”

“How did she and Declan meet?”

“Declan worked for Benton for a year, before returning home to visit. He was eighteen, fresh to the outside world, and excited to spread knowledge with the tribe. Nuna, our father, and I became part of the tribe a couple of weeks before Declan returned. Our village was attacked, my mother killed. I was fourteen and Nuna was sixteen.” Sokanon’s nostalgic smile brightened just a little. “I remember standing with my sister at the well when we spotted Declan. He couldn’t stop staring at her. They fell in love quickly and got married within a month. Less than a year later, Mikinok was born.”

Coralee listened raptly to her. She didn’t think she’d ever heard Sokanon speak so passionately or see her smile so much. That was certainly due to the memories of her sister. “Thank you for sharing. I can tell you loved Nuna very much.”

“Yes, I did.”

“We’ll rest up ahead on the banks of the stream!” called Declan.

Both women shared a smile, then Sokanon headed forward.

Makkonen’s long stride caught him up to Cora. He lifted a humored brow at her. “What were you two talking about, giving me looks and all?”

Coralee smiled up at him and shrugged. “Oh, this and that.”

“She heard us last night, didn’t she? Well, _you_. I was quiet.”

The young woman laughed and smacked his arm. “I wasn’t that loud.”

“Lies,” he droned deeply, grinning. “You were pretty damn vocal.”

Cora quirked a look and shrugged.

The couple settled for a short break with the others. Less than half an hour later, Declan started them moving again.

◄☼►

They traveled for five days, putting them more than halfway through the Undisputed Territory. Much to Cora’s dismay, there weren’t any large Cree or Black Wolf camps around for miles. This meant that, like the last few days, they’d be sleeping out in the elements. Roughing it in the wild. Before the sun went down, Francois, Sokanon, and Makkonen broke from the rest of the group to follow a clear set of deer tracks. It was the Cree warrioress’s bow that brought the animal down and provided them with dinner. Declan butchered it and got meat sizzling over the fire.

Now, full of venison, most of the group sat around the fire, preparing to settle in for the night. Francois and Gaston held down perimeter watch on both ends of camp. Rene removed two small plates from a gear bag, sliced some meat, and loaded the plates.

“That for the watch?” questioned Declan.

“Yes.”

“Good man.”

Carrying the plates, Rene slipped away from the warmth of the fire and headed for Francois, who was positioned looking out northwest. The man heard Rene approaching and turned a grinning countenance to him, taking a plate.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” said Rene. “I’ll be back to relieve you in a couple of hours.”

“_D’accord, bien_.” Okay, good.

Rene turned away and started for the southeast post. The campfire was behind him and slightly uphill. Shadows swooned in, his eyes having to adjust to the surroundings, which consisted of smooth, pale tree trunks. He stopped and peered around.

“Gaston?” Rene moved along the trees, squinting into the darkness. In the daytime, he would’ve been presented with a view of valley forest and the river a mile south. All he could see now was the wide-open, starry sky and silhouette of the treetops frosted in moonlight. “_Gaston_.”

The French tracker spotted something nearby, slumped against a tree trunk. He approached slowly. When close enough, he gasped and dropped the plate of venison. There was Gaston, limp, his eyes open, throat slit.

Rene frantically scanned the darkness, then turned to call up to camp. “_DECL_—”

A crossbow bolt to the back silenced him, but his life was not taken in vain. The others heard his clipped warning.

◄☼►

Coralee sat beside Makkonen, leaned into him watching the flames, warm and safe under his arm.

“_DECL_—”

Everyone around the fire instantly went on alert, hurrying to their feet and readying weapons. Makkonen had his rifle up and aimed into the ominous darkness, Coralee protected behind him. The young woman’s enlarged eyes scanned anxiously around.

“Take positions!” Declan commanded.

The group retreat towards the north side of camp. Francois had his back pressed to a tree, covering them while they made their way. Everyone took cover and observed the deserted clearing where the fire burned. There was nothing but silence.

Ducked behind a boulder with her husband, clutching to his side, Cora lifted her head a bit to try and see something.

Makkonen frowned and yanked her back behind cover. “_Stay down_,” he hissed lowly.

Father Coffin needed no one to tell him to remain hidden. He did so well on his own. The priest hid behind a trunk by Michael, trying to make the smallest possible target of himself.

Michael had drawn his knife, eyes searching. A snap caught his ear, and he jerked eyes in the direction. Another sound disturbed the silence. “Behind us!’

Declan and the others turned to see redcoats running from the trees.

Sokanon sent an arrow whistling. It struck one man in the chest.

Then, the battle cries came, no reason to be quiet. More HBC soldiers moved in, taking cover when needed to avoid Sokanon’s arrows and Makkonen and Francois’s shots.

The redcoats returned fire, getting off a few shots before someone commanded, “Lord Benton wants Harp alive!”

Declan sneered, peering around the trunk he hid behind. He spoke lowly to Sokanon and Michael. “It’s me they want. Get everyone away. I’ll distract them.”

“We’re not leaving you.” Makkonen heard him. He finished reloading his rifle.

“_Look!_” Father Coffin said urgently.

They saw another five redcoats cutting across the campsite towards them.

“They’re trying to block us in,” Declan snarled.

Makkonen’s eyes swung to Coralee. His sweet, precious Cora. He wished he had fought harder to make her stay with the tribe. The man’s face hardened. “We have to fight. Francois, Sokanon, we’ll fire on the ones coming across camp, make them use their shots. The ones coming from the trees will fire too. As soon as they do, while they’re reloading, we rush them.”

Declan nodded. “Alright. Let’s do it.”

“Cora, stay behind cover,” Makkonen ordered.

The young woman nodded rapidly, features blanketed in fear. This wasn’t her first confrontation.

“I’ll...uh...just stay behind cover as well,” whispered Father Coffin.

“Naturally.” Sokanon smirked.

“Ready up,” Declan said. “Makkonen and Michael, you two rush the soldiers in camp. The rest of us will take the ones in the trees.”

Makkonen, Francois, and Sokanon aimed their weapons at the approaching line of soldiers, each man transformed into faceless shadows, backlit by the campfire.

“_Now!_” yelled Declan.

Gunshots blasted the night, flashing in the dark, and three of the flanking Hudson Bay Company soldiers dropped. One had an arrow sticking out of his neck. The two remaining men fired their weapons, as did those in the woods, just as Makkonen predicted. They wanted Declan alive, but they’d not risk losing any more men trying to capture him; they’d kill him if necessary, which would be much to the displeasure of their boss.

Coralee hunkered and squeezed her eyes shut when the gunfire exploded, seeming to come from all directions at once. Then, everyone rushed off to their attack positions, engaging the enemy hand-to-hand. Curious to see how things were going, she crawled to the edge of the boulder and peeked. She saw Makkonen and Michael fighting. When she looked the other way, she could barely make out the others, but she saw flashes of them and more redcoats amongst the trees, engaged in combat.

One HBC soldier saw her and ran forward.

Coralee gasped and scrambled back on her hands, losing traction in the snow. She slipped to her bottom.

Father Coffin saw her dilemma. Damned woman! She should’ve done as her husband said and stayed out of sight. Now, the “holy” man would be forced to play the hero. He rushed from cover, thoroughly surprising the redcoat, tackling him to the ground.

Near frozen with fear, Cora watched the priest and the soldier struggle on the ground before her. As well-intended as Father Coffin was, his combat skills were no match for the other man. The soldier punched him in the face, rolling on top. Then, he pulled a knife and proceeded to viciously ram it over and over into the priest’s stomach.

Cora’s mouth gaped open like she would scream, yet nothing came out. Her wide eyes flooded with tears. Operating on instinct, she got to her feet and ran.

Makkonen caught her flying off into the trees to the west, away from camp and the fighting. He growled and swung a punch to the soldier he faced, staggering him.

Michael stepped in quickly, finishing the soldier with a knife to the back. “Go get her!”

He nodded to the Irishman, then bolted after his wife. “Cora!”

Declan, Sokanon, and Francois were just about done with their group of HBC attackers too. Seeing things were under control, Declan ran off after Makkonen and Coralee. He knew the woman would never be his, but he still loved her, and it would destroy yet another piece of him if anything happened to her.

◄☼►

Coralee didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to get away from all the madness, the killing and carnage. She was just so tired of it! Her legs pumped, breath shunting out in sharp puffs.

“_Cora!_”

“_Coralee!_”

Makkonen and Declan. They called out into the night for her.

The southern beauty suddenly stopped, finally forced out of her frantic haze by their voices. They’d yelled for her several times, but she hadn’t heard them, hadn’t registered it. Now, she stood out in the middle of shadowy woods, scared, alone, and missing her husband.

She gasped and sniffed back tears, whipping around to go towards camp.

Just two feet away stood a man she never thought she’d see again.

◄☼►

Coralee’s shrill scream pierced the night, and the sound was like a dagger in Makkonen’s chest.

“_No!_” he churned, then all-out ran.

Declan was right with him.

Though the woods were dark, the sky was clear, and silvery moonlight cast over the landscape. The two Cree warriors hurried forward. They broke through a low, thin wall of brittle winter foliage and slammed to a halt.

Not more than thirty feet away was Angus Beecher and Coralee. He had her trapped against him, a knife to her slender throat. In his other hand was a Flintlock pistol, which he aimed at Declan and Makkonen.

Angus grinned darkly at Declan. “Well, now. There he is. Just who I was lookin’ for.”

Declan watched him levelly, calm but dangerous. “That’s right. Release her and take me instead.”

“You know what, boy? I got a better idea. Why don’t I slit her fucking throat and let you watch? How about that?” He tightened the blade to Cora’s neck, and she whimpered.

Makkonen slowly lifted his hands, his insides rattling with fear and anger. “Please don’t hurt her.”

Angus’s probing eyes zeroed in on him. “You’re the one from the cabin, ain’t ya? Killed Shane, took his head clean off.”

“Yes. It was me. So, let her go. Trade her for me. Please…”

The slavecatcher wasn’t as dense as some people thought. He was observant, able to read things for more than what was on the surface. He studied Makkonen closely, then chuffed a snort-laugh. “You love this nigger bitch, don’tcha? Well, ain’t that poetic. Lord Benton wanted that red bastard alive, but I’mma shoot him in the face, then slit her throat, and you”—Angus’s lip curled mockingly at Makkonen—“I’mma gut like a fish.”

Makkonen’s whole expression transformed, eyes wild, a muscle in his cheek twitching because he frowned so hard. “_You hurt her, and I will make sure you suffer like you never thought you could before I kill you, do you hear me!_”

Angus howled out laughter.

Coralee’s eyes locked to Makkonen’s, and he saw that she was going for her knife, secured to her coat by her hip.

The slavecatcher had heard enough. He’d dreamed of killing Declan Harp every day since they’d crossed paths, and now he would. Grinning, he veered the Flintlock to the right, put Declan’s head in his sight, and thumbed back the hammer, cocking the weapon.

Cora managed to get her knife free. Mustering all her guts, she drew her arm up and rammed the blade hard into Angus’s thigh, twisting the wound open.

Angus cried out and dropped to one knee, his arm swaying sideways as he fired off the shot. Declan had dived aside moments before. Coralee ran into Makkonen’s very relieved arms. The mountain man scooped her up, doing his best not to squeeze too hard. He pulled back to look in her eyes, then hugged her close again.

Makkonen reluctantly released her and approached the injured, gimped slavecatcher with Declan.

Angus hissed out dry laughter. “Well, go on then. Finish it. _Finish it!_”

Declan really wanted to kill the fucker, but he’d leave it to his tribe-brother. He deserved to end the useless sack of human waste. The frontiersman nodded to the mountain man, who removed the axe from his back. He readied the weapon.

Before he could lift and swing it…

_Thuck._

The low, solid sound came, and Angus flopped back on the ground, motionless. Declan and Makkonen saw that his right eye was gone, and blood poured from the hole where it had been. His left eye stared up at the starry sky.

The Bull and the Wolf turned to Cora, who stood in a firing pose, her slingshot still up and ready. Shuddering, she lowered the weapon.

“Nice shot,” Declan mused.

Makkonen’s attention went back to Angus. Coralee’s metal ball bearing had killed him, but it was always smart to make sure. The behemoth of a man raised his large axe and cleaved the slavecatcher’s head from his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now off to Hawaii for a short vacation, though I’m sure I’ll get some writing done while there. It’s in my blood and I can’t seem to stay away from it for long. :)


	18. A Love Too Late Pronounced

When Sokanon, Francois, and Michael rushed through the foliage and into the open, they saw Declan, Makkonen, and Coralee standing over a body. As they got closer, they saw that the head had been severed.

Sokanon’s eyes swung to Declan. “What was he doing out here with the redcoats?”

“During his rather pathetic monologue he mentioned Benton,” said Declan. “My guess is that he went to the old bastard for assistance, and Benton gave him soldiers.”

“Who is he, or should I say, _was_ he?” entered Michael. “He looks familiar.”

“Slavecatcher,” said Sokanon. “He was at the Ale House your first night there.”

Michael lifted a brow. “And you know this because…?”

“Because I was hiding in the back, watching you and the priest get drunk.”

“Where is Coffin?” asked Declan.

Michael bellowed a dismal sigh. “Dead. One of the redcoat bastards stabbed him.”

Coralee trembled a small cry and placed a hand over her mouth. Tears gathered in her eyes. “He...he gave his life to protect me. It’s my fault. I should’ve just stayed hidden…”

Makkonen’s arms linked around her, hugging.

“We’ve lost both Rene and Gaston as well,” reported Francois. “We counted ten HBC soldiers, all dead. If there were more, they’ve probably retreated, or they’d have attacked by now.”

Declan slowly scanned their surroundings, his open ears catching only the normal sounds of night: owls, loons, distant wolf cries. “Alright, let’s bury our dead and clear those redcoat corpses from camp. We’ll set up half-watch and leave at dawn.”

“What’s half-watch?” Cora’s voice traveled softly, her wet eyes on Declan.

“Half of us will stand watch, while the others sleep. Then, we trade shifts,” he said.

“I will take the first watch.” Cora’s gaze drifted to Angus’s headless corpses. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”

◄☼►

The group returned to their camp and carried out the plan. Instead of having the watch spread wide, they kept the perimeter tight and contained. Coralee, Makkonen, and Michael sat within reach of the golden, warm fire, facing outward, surrounding Declan, Sokanon, and Francois while they rested.

The southern beauty checked her pistol and slingshot. She stared off into the trees. Makkonen lowered beside her, and neither said anything for a long moment. Coralee sighed and finally broke the silence.

“I know what you’re going to say, that I should’ve—”

“Stayed in the village,” he finished, keeping his voice low. “Yes, that’s exactly what I was going to say.”

Cora stole a look at him. She felt devastated about the death of their friends.

The man was barely able to suppress his anger, frowning at her. “I have half a mind to drag you back up there, and I would if we weren’t nearly at Fort James.”

“Makkonen, I’m sorry.”

“‘Sorry’ isn’t enough, Cora. ‘Sorry’ won’t matter if you’re dead.” He took a moment to calm himself, reaching to gently turn her face to him. “I was so scared back there. He could’ve taken you from me in an instant, do you understand!”

The tears brimming in Cora’s eyes drifted down her cheeks. The moment played out in her mind again, and she could clearly see the absolute terror in Makkonen’s eyes as he stood there and helplessly watched Angus threaten her life. “Please, forgive me.”

Makkonen’s anger melted away, and he draped an arm around her, kissing her forehead. “Oh, _apaskwaniy_. There’s nothing to forgive. I love you more than anything, and I don’t want to lose you. You have to understand how much you mean to me.”

“I do understand. I wish I had stayed behind.”

He conjured a vague smile, an expression that was more sad than anything. “I do too. It’s difficult to concentrate on what needs to be done when I have you to worry about.”

“Well, once we return to the village, you won’t have to worry. I’ll keep my behind right up there where it’s safe.” Cora hugged close and nuzzled under his bearded chin.

Makkonen nodded. “Good.”

Of course, he still had to get her back to the village, and that wouldn’t be until after they’d done _whatever_ it was Declan was planning. He loved his tribe-brother dearly, but his obsession with Archibald Benton was a dangerous one. Many good men had already lost their lives, and there would undoubtedly be more. Makkonen would do whatever was necessary to make sure Coralee wasn’t among the casualties.

◄☼►

Mary Abigail Morgan was a conundrum to most people. She’d only really opened up about her past to Grace, a sensical move seeing as she’d worked for the woman for a few years. The assumption by most was that Mary was a perfect, pristine devout lover of god. While she did believe in a higher power, the young woman was anything but perfect. She came to the New World as the wife of Aiden Morgan, an old man who died in his sleep on the ship before he could ever touch her. He’d had plenty of money to sustain her, but that would mean she was tied to him, his family, and his debt.

That was something Mary decided to bypass. She landed in Fort James and met Grace, who gave her a job. In return, Mary received food, shelter, warmth, friendship, and a decent living. She’d do anything for Grace.

Now, wiping down a table in the Ale House, Mary stopped to scan the main room. It wasn’t as busy. Her pale-blue eyes swept to the doorway leading to the store room in back. The shadows there shifted, and Declan Harp could be seen watching her silently. Mary nodded to him, and he backed away from sight.

Mary casually went over to Grace, who poured liquor for a couple of customers at the bar. “I’ll watch the front. You have a special delivery in the back.”

Grace stepped away, slipping into the storeroom. She was greeted by the Cree Irishman, Sokanon, Michael, Makkonen, and Coralee; Francois has slipped off to one of the Black Wolf camps in the woods a day ago. While she was happy to see them, worry knitted its way across her brow. She stared up at Declan. “What are ye doin’ here?”

The man watched her coolly. “Benton shows up, and you think I _wouldn’t_ come?”

The flame-haired woman sighed. “Good point. C’mon. Let’s go to the storehouse. Samoset and Dimanche are hiding out there.”

◄☼►

Moving swiftly and cautiously, they followed Grace out the back and beelined for the storehouse.

The tavern owner spoke over her shoulder to Declan, who was right behind her, keeping her voice low. “You’d do well to stay out of sight. Benton has his men on high alert.”

“Noted,” he replied succinctly.

“You should also know that something’s gone down with the Lake Walkers.”

Declan’s features hardened. “Something like _what_?”

“I’ll explain more once we’re inside. Go on.” Grace unlocked the door and stood guard while they filed in, her eyes darting around.

Once everyone was in, she secured the door, then moved aside a couple of lighter weight, false-bottom barrels to reveal the wide hatch to the cellar behind them. Declan stood guard by the window; all was clear and inconspicuous outside.

Dimanche and Samoset climbed up from below, exchanging smiles with their fellow tribesmen.

“Look who it is,” chimed Samoset. “I thought you might be getting too soft to play with us, mama’s boy.”

Makkonen produced a thin smirk, chuckling. “Just because I don’t often go raiding my way across the land with the rest of you doesn’t make me soft.”

“I guess not. You’re looking good, brother.” Samoset gripped the much larger man in a hug, which Makkonen returned.

“Right back at ya.”

Sam’s eyes veered to Michael, who had undoubtedly joined their crew. He then looked to Coralee and smiled. She appeared much livelier since the last time he saw her. “Good to see you again, Miss Cassidy.”

The air instantly seized up, quickly becoming congested with unease. Perhaps, it was the looks shared between Declan, Makkonen, Coralee, and Sokanon.

The southern woman smiled softly back. “Actually, it’s _Missus_ Hightower now.”

It was Dimanche and Samoset’s turn to exchange looks, both their eyes swinging to Declan, who stared back silently. Even Grace was left wordless. Everyone believed that the Cree Irishman would’ve ended up with Cora, the way he doted on her. But he obviously had not.

As shocked as Grace was, she was also relieved. She calmly deepened her smile, looking between Makkonen and Coralee. “Well...congratulations. I never thought I’d see the day when you settled down.”

Makkonen chuffed. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

One of Sokanon’s brows hoisted at him, lips poised comically. “The way you were with women, do you really have to ask?”

“And what way was that?” Cora quipped.

The mountain man felt her eyes stabbing into him. He looked down at her. “I wasn’t any kind of way.”

“You got around, huh?” There was unmistakable attitude in her voice.

“I…I just hadn’t found the right one yet. Turned out to be you, _apaskwaniy_.”

“Uh-huh.”

Makkonen cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “So, anyway, what’s going on with the Lake Walkers?” The man knew the conversation wasn’t over, and he didn’t want to hash it out in front of the others, _not_ that there was anything to hide. Yes, he indulged in several women before Cora, but that was in the past.

Grace took the lead, diffusing any unease that settled in the room. “The _okimaw’s_ grandson, Kitchi, was shot by Cedric Brown and taken hostage.”

“What?” Declan’s frown thickened.

“Brown brought him to me, and I hid him here for a short while, got him stable, broke his fever, and stopped infection from setting in. Then, Benton took him. Well, not Benton personally. It was his second in command, Captain Chesterfield,” said Grace. “He found out I was keeping him here. He also killed Cedric Brown, knifed him right where ye’re standin’.”

“That Chesterfield is an arsehole,” Michael entered. “I don’t like him.”

“Declan, we have to get Kitchi back,” Sokanon said urgently.

“I know. The question is: why did Cedric take the boy in the first place? The Low River Company is in good relations with the Lake Walkers.”

“Yes, that _is_ the question,” Samoset entered, his features stern. “Malcolm Brown is somewhere about Fort James, vowing to get Chesterfield back for his brother’s murder.”

“He’s staying at Porter’s Inn,” said Grace. “Been coming to the Ale House most nights to get shitfaced.”

“We need to speak with him, but saving Kitchi is the priority.” Declan’s gaze went to Sokanon. “You’re less conspicuous than me. Could you go to the inn, get Malcolm outside?”

She nodded.

Declan looked to Makkonen. “You take the others and make camp down by the river; go out two or so miles. There’s too many of us to stay in this storehouse.”

“Okay,” said the mountain man.

Sokanon scoped the window first to make sure it was clear, then opened the door. After she left, Makkonen, Coralee, Dimanche, Michael, and Samoset discreetly departed in the direction of the river. That left Declan and Grace last, and before he too could leave, Grace stepped forward and shut the door.

The frontiersman watched her expectantly, as if he knew what she might say.

Grace approached the hulking man. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with you and Coralee.”

Declan shrugged matter-of-factly, quite over being the object of everyone’s sympathy. He’d lost his chance with the woman. Oh, well. His voice projected low and resonantly when he answered, “It’s just the way things go.”

“You don’t need to act like you’re not hurt, Declan. I can see that you are.”

His expression didn’t falter, but he did sigh. “I’ll get over it.”

He made to move around her, and Grace swayed to block. “Yeah, ye might. But you should know that...that you don’t have to be alone.”

Declan’s gaze stayed on hers as she eased closer, until the thinnest cushion of air separated them.

Grace continued. “I should’ve just come out and said it to you directly.”

“Grace…”

“I care about you, Declan. I...love—”

“Don’t.” And here the stoic, glacial mask he adorned broke. “Don’t do this. Not now.”

“Why not!” The Irish beauty took his hand. “I have loved you for sometime. You know this.”

Declan turned his eyes away, shutting them a moment.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything for me. Tell me you don’t love me,” she urged, stealing a look at the window. They were still alone. “_Tell me, Declan._”

The tall, broad man finally met her eyes once more. He retracted his large hand from her grip, shaking his head. “No.”

“_Stop pushing me away!_”

“I cannot do this, Grace! You want something from me that I can’t give you,” his voice poured out soft and gravelly. “There was a time when we could’ve been more, but that time is gone. I can’t love you beyond friendship. I’m sorry.”

He rushed out of the storehouse, leaving her to stare wordlessly into some dark corner of supplies.

Grace was meticulous and solid when it came to controlling her feelings, but something in her crumbled this time. Her eyes welled up, sending frustrated tears rolling down her cheeks. It took a minute, but she finally hardened and swiped the moisture from her face and eyes. At least now she knew exactly where she and Declan Harp stood and where their relationship would never venture. She wouldn’t attempt to pursue him again.

◄☼►

Malcolm Brown slouched in a chair facing the hearth in his room at Porter’s Inn and frowned into the fire, swigging from an unmarked bottle of liquor. He decided not to visit the Ale House that night and get plastered in solitude. Of course, angry-drinking wasn’t the best type. All he could think about was giving that English fuck Chesterfield a knife to the guts, same as the captain did to Cedric.

Very light knocks rapped his door.

Irritated, Malcolm rose from the chair, swayed a moment, then went to answer. He was surprised to see Sokanon standing on the other side. The Scotsman’s eyes hooked left and right. “Harp out there with ye?”

“He’s outside,” Sokanon said. “Wants to talk to you about your brother and Kitchi.”

Malcolm growled thickly. “I already spoke to Grace about it. I don’t know why Cedric would’ve hurt the boy, but I _do_ know I’m going to kill the shoddy captain who did m’brother in. So help me, I _will_ dig his heart out with my bare hands.”

Sokanon rolled her eyes. “Just come down and speak with Declan. He’s behind the inn.”

The Cree woman whirled about and left him standing in the doorway.

Malcolm smirked after her. After a short deliberation, he set the bottle down and followed.

◄☼►

Blended cohesively into the shadows behind Porter’s Inn, Declan scanned his half-blind gaze around watchfully. He simultaneously pondered the awkward moment shared between him and Grace. He didn’t doubt that they’d continue being friends, but he was sure the dynamic between them had been altered in some big way. She’d openly pronounced her love for him, and he’d shut it down.

A lumbered sigh slipped from Declan, and he shook his head. He instantly went alert when Sokanon and Malcolm came around the side of the building. Mismatched eyes glared at the Scotsman. “What the hell happened!”

Malcolm’s shoulders slouched, and he shrugged dismissively. “Like I told her”—he nodded at Sokanon—“and our favorite flame-haired lass, I don’t know what Cedric was thinking. Douglas doesn’t even know about it yet, off chasing up some rich English fur heiress’s ass.”

Declan examined him closely. “I take it you haven’t gone to see Kamenna and the Lake Walkers yet.”

“Damn right I havna! I go up there, and they’ll roast me over a spit for Cedric’s antics.” Malcolm sighed. “Low River was doing pretty good with the Lake Walker trade. I don’t know why he’d do this.”

“And you have to tell them that in person,” Declan said. “We should go up and speak with Kamenna, get her to understand that what’s happened is a mistake. A mistake we intend to fix.”

“And how are we going to do that?” countered Malcolm.

“We’re going to rescue Kitchi,” said Sokanon.

The Scotsman’s gaze drifted between his native associates. “You’re just gonna walk right in and take him from Benton, are ye?”

Declan nodded. “Yeah, something like that. Once we devise a plan.”

Malcolm finally shrugged. “Well, fuck me, guess I’m in. No choice and all.”

“Good.” Declan smacked his shoulder. “First, we scope out Benton’s place.”

◄☼►

The three of them went directly to the governor’s manor, keeping well hidden in the foliage on the west side of compound. Behind them was a long patch of forest, with the river at the bottom of the embankment. They peeked through the scraggly branches, observing. There was no sign of Benton, not even through any of the windows.

“There’s a decent amount of soldiers here, at least a dozen,” said Declan, his tone low and contained. “Four guard houses and that one on the far side with a man stationed outside.”

“Kitchi’s probably in there,” said Sokanon.

Declan nodded. “I’m betting he is.”

Malcolm suddenly stiffened, his breaths coming out sharply. “There’s the fucker that murdered Cedric.”

Sokanon and Declan trained their vision on the man who’d just exited the main house. He strode across the lamp-lit yard with a plate of food. When he got to the structure with the guard posted outside, the guard saluted and let him enter.

“Looks like we were right,” the frontiersman looked to Sokanon. “That’s where Kitchi is. It’s good that they’re feeding him, which means they probably don’t intend to kill him. Not yet, at least.”

“So what do we do? Go to the Lake Walkers or go in for him?” she said

Declan took only a moment to decide. “We should rescue him. He’s alive and well now, but who knows for how long? Benton might be keeping him alive for some other purpose, and once that purpose has been served, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. Let’s go meet with the others downriver.”

Sokanon nodded.

“And _you_,” Declan started, turning to Malcolm, “don’t do anything stupid. Go back to your room. I’ll contact you after we’ve rescued Kitchi; you’re going up with us to the Lake Walkers.”

The Brown brother drizzled an angry sigh as he turned to see Captain Jonathan Chesterfield exit Kitchi’s holding cell and head back to the main house. He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

◄☼►

As instructed, Makkonen, Coralee, Samoset, Michael, and Dimanche got a good ways down the river, to where it bent and thinned out a little. Samoset made a fire, around which they all huddled. Cora had arms wrapped around one of Makkonen’s, drawn close for warmth. The mountain man tensed under her grip, then relaxed when Declan and Sokanon appeared at the top of the bank, heading for them. Everyone watched the two expectantly.

“Get any information,” probed Makkonen.

“A little,” said Declan. He dropped his traveling bag and settled around the fire. “Malcolm doesn’t know why his brother shot and kidnapped the boy. The three of us went to Benton’s compound and found where they’re keeping Kitchi. We’re going in to get him tomorrow night.”

“You have a plan?” Samoset said.

Declan shrugged. “It’s pretty straightforward. We sneak in, free the boy, and leave.”

“There’s a good amount of guards,” said Sokanon.

Declan’s cunning visage flashed sideways to her, then back to the fire. “We’ll just have to be fast about it. The river runs near the governor’s house. Way I see it, we can stage a couple of boats on the shore to get away once we have Kitchi.”

Dimanche nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

“Are we all going in?” asked Michael.

“Coralee isn’t,” Makkonen said immediately.

The young woman remained silent. She didn’t plan on being part of the rescue team and wasn’t about to argue over it.

Declan’s eyes fixed on Michael. “Benton doesn’t know you’ve joined up with me. We might be able to use that to our advantage.”

“I dunno,” Michael countered. “I’ve been gone so long, he’s probably written me off by now.”

“You could stroll right up to the front door,” Declan said. “Cause a distraction.”

“And if Benton figures out I’ve turned on him and joined ye?” Michael shook his head. “I don’t want to get close to that man again.”

“What about your girl?” Declan watched him closely over the fire. “What happens to her when she arrives and Benton gets his hands on her? If you don’t show Benton you’re still with him, he might do something...bad.”

Michael stared at him, knowing he spoke true. “I’ll figure something out.”

Declan nodded. “Alright. It’s probably best that you don’t go in tomorrow then. You’ll hang back with Coralee.”

“Okay then,” said Michael.

The group divided into half-watch shifts and settled down for the night.


	19. Farewell, Old Friend...

The following day, Declan and the others laid low, staying outside of Fort James until the sun went down. Then, Declan paid a visit to Grace, who believed his plan was sound, though he thought she seemed a bit cold towards him. Probably had something to do with his rejection of her love.

Grace was strong, Declan knew. She’d get over it. For now, he supposed he’d just have to suffer her frigidness.

Concealed by night in the dense foliage on the west side of the compound, Declan and the others closely observed the movements of Benton’s soldiers. They were pretty predictable. The only guards posted were the two at the bottom of the steps leading into the large main house and the man standing outside Kitchi’s cell. Other soldiers milled about the grounds, going between the main house and the barracks.

Declan looked down the line at his group. “Alright. Time to move. We all clear on what to do?”

“We get to the building holding Kitchi and disable the guard,” said Sokanon.

“Me and Samoset will carry Kitchi out if he needs.” Having checked his tomahawk, Dimanche secured the weapon.

“And I’m there as the muscle, I guess,” quipped Makkonen lowly, his teeth flashing in the dimness when he smiled.

“Michael and I will stay right here,” said Coralee.

Declan’s vision went to each of them, and he nodded. “Let’s go.”

Makkonen pulled Cora close and kissed her brow. “Be ready to move fast.”

“I will,” she said softly, closing her eyes a moment against the pleasant heat of his breath. She met his gaze. “Be careful.”

The mountain man nodded, then he, Declan, Sokanon, Samoset, and Dimanche began shifting around the perimeter, sticking to the foliage and shadows, staying well out of reach of lantern and torch light. They kept going until they were behind the small building holding Kitchi.

Once he was sure they were clear, Declan moved out first, waving for them to follow, his back pressed to the wood plank wall, creeping forward.

◄☼►

Young Sergeant Tomilson was an honest man. He’d joined the Royal British Army in hopes of seeing far off places, and how much further could one go than the New World? Since he’d crossed the Atlantic a couple of years ago and settled in Fort James to serve in the interest of the HBC, he’d seen and done a lot. He’d met many interesting people, to include a beautiful negro lady named Coralee Cassidy. He still regretted that he hadn’t caught her before she suddenly left town; he knew she would’ve loved the tea he meant to give her. Perhaps, she'd come through again.

The young soldier sighed and hunched his shoulders. He wished he’d put on another layer or two before taking up the watch on the Indian boy’s cell. It was bloody, blasted _cold!_ At least his relief would be there at any moment. He inched closer to the torch planted in the snow-blanketed ground, thankful for any kind of heat it released.

_Tut-tut-tut_.

The muted tapping came from around the left side of the shed, and Sergeant Tomilson’s head turned in the direction. He listened for a moment, and it happened again. It sounded like something knocking on the side of the small building. Tomilson slowly went towards the corner, his rifle now unshouldered and ready. He took a breath and snapped around the side.

But there was nothing.

Then, the end of Declan’s bison bone club came down on the back of the young man’s head, sending him into dark unconsciousness. The Cree Irishman glared down at his body splayed in the snow. “Get that door open.”

“There’s no lock,” Sokanon answered, her voice hindered.

Makkonen hunkered low to make the smallest target of himself while observing the area. “Everything’s clear. Hurry up and get the boy.” His eyes skirted to the lush wall of foliage he knew Cora and Michael hid behind.

Declan grabbed the handle and carefully unlatched the door, pushing it in. Dimanche had his rifle up and ready, aimed into the room. Yet, there was no one there but Kitchi. He partially laid on a spattering of furs in the small abode, a hand clutching lightly over his side where he’d been shot. There weren’t any windows, and the few barrels lined along one wall suggested it was normally utilized as a storage shack.

More of a young man than a boy, Kitchi grinned and sat up straighter. “_Kiskeyimew. Kiya ci Declan Harp._” I know you. You’re Declan Harp.

“Yes. You’ve certainly seen me about your village here and there,” Declan answered in Cree. “We’ve come to take you home. Can you stand?”

Excitedly, Kitchi made to get to his feet, and was a little slow about it. Samoset quickly moved in to assist. The young man smiled, and they went for the door.

Standing guard outside, Makkonen narrowed his eyes across the yard. “We have to go _now_,” he hissed over his shoulder.

Declan came out of the small, single-room structure first, followed by Samoset and Kitchi, then Sokanon and Dimanche.

Before they could retreat to the dimness of the perimeter to make their way back to Michael and Coralee, the door of the guardhouse thirty feet away swung open and a man staggered out. He had intended to go piss in the shadows around the side of the house. He had _not_ expected to see a group of unauthorized strangers stealing off with Lord Benton’s prisoner.

“Oy! What’s that!” he called.

“Fuck.” Makkonen drew his knife. He didn’t get the chance to engage the soldier, since Sokanon sent an arrow into his chest, silencing him.

That still didn’t keep the place from going up in alert.

“Middleton!” yelled a guard from inside the small house, having seen the man struck down just outside the door. “Intruders! _INTRUDERS!_”

“_Go!_” Declan ordered.

Everyone started directly across the yard, skipping the perimeter plan. They’d been discovered, so being discreet no longer mattered. They just had to escape.

◄☼►

“Oh no! They’ve been discovered!” Cora’s breath clenched in her throat as she and Michael observed from the tall shrubbery. They couldn’t see details, but they could see the members of their group hurrying for them.

“Come on, come on…” Michael chanted tensely under his breath. Blue eyes jotted left. Armed soldiers had begun filing from the main house and the guard houses. “Shit.”

◄☼►

Gunfire ensued, the flashes of multiple soldiers’ muzzles igniting the night. Sokanon offered cover fire with her bow, while Makkonen and Dimanche used their rifles, steadily making their way to safety.

“_It’s Declan Harp!_” yelled a soldier. “He’s taken the native boy!”

“Keep moving!” Declan thundered.

More gunshots boomed in the night.

And Samoset cried out, stumbling forward. He released Kitchi, and the young man flew to the ground as well.

Makkonen immediately secured his weapon, ran to his tribe-brother, tossed him over his shoulder, and hurried the last few feet into cover. Declan helped Kitchi. Once they were all behind the foliage, Sokanon hurried to Makkonen, worried about Samoset.

“Not now!” the mountain man said harshly to her. “To the boats! Cora, move!”

Of course, he was right. Benton’s men were holding their positions for the moment, but they’d advance once they regrouped. Makkonen led the way, with Coralee right behind him, doing well to stay close to her husband.

◄☼►

Lord Benton stood at the bottom of the steps of the main house and stared in the direction the intruders had run. Without looking over at Lieutenant Vanstone, he spoke, “Are you sure it was Harp?”

“Yes, sir, I’m certain. Had about four others with him.”

“Were any of them Michael Smyth?”

Vanstone shook his head. The men had ceased fire, but the yard was still noisy with orders being shouted. “No, sir, not that we could tell.”

Benton’s hard expression didn’t falter, though his eyes narrowed faintly. “Get some men together and go after them. Now!”

“Yes, sir!” Vanstone hurried to do his lord’s bidding.

◄☼►

When they reached the two canoes, Makkonen very carefully set Samoset to the ground so he and the others could get the vessels into the water.

Coralee lowered beside Samoset, the man trembling. He coughed raggedly, and blood spattered past his lips. “He’s not looking good! Oh, god. Just hang on, Samoset.” She took his hand.

Declan ran to his long-time friend to examine him. There was no blood on the front of his clothes, so he gently rolled him to see that he’d taken a shot in the upper back, left of his spine. Dismayed, Declan resettled Samoset on the ground, the snow gone crimson beneath him, tainted with his blood. “His lung is hit.”

“Let’s get him in the boat!” urged Sokanon.

Samoset coughed, wheezed, and shook his head. “No. Go...get away. Th-they’re coming.”

“I’m not leaving you, brother,” Declan said, his face torn with emotion. He took Samoset’s hand.

“Stubborn. _Go!_” Samoset sighed with tremendous effort. He squeezed Declan’s hand back, sucked in one last breath, which shuddered slowly from him, then he was still, his eyes staring up at the sky.

Samoset’s last breath left a sickening silence in its place. No one said a thing at first. Then, Sokanon sniffled and fell to her knees beside his body. “No…”

Even Declan’s eyes conjured a sheer layer of tears.

Makkonen closed his eyes, clenching back his own tears. Samoset had been one of the best friends _any_ of them ever had, and he couldn’t believe he was gone. His arm tightened around Coralee, who had fallen into him, crying.

Michael watched everything solemnly. He’d known Samoset less than two months and had grown very fond of him. His quiet wisdom and kindness. He would be missed.

Dimanche’s lip trembled, and the water in his eyes did not fall. He wouldn’t let it. Not now. Of everyone in their circle, he’d spent the most time with Samoset, his constant traveling buddy. He would mourn properly later. For now… “We have to go,” he said tightly.

Sokanon stepped back so Declan and Dimanche could lift Samoset’s body into one of the canoes. The others loaded into the boats and pushed off from the banks. They were well out of reach when the torches and lanterns of Benton’s men cut through the trees and made it to the shoreline.

◄☼►

They stayed on the river for an hour, before landing on the opposite shore. Inside the woods on a moonlit clearing, Declan and Dimanche dug a very shallow grave; the ground was too frozen to go deeper than a couple of feet. It was there that Samoset’s body was buried. Everyone stood silently around the mound for a little while saying silent goodbyes.

Declan faced Kitchi, who sat on a toppled log wrapped in a fur coat they’d supplied him. “How are you feeling?” he asked in Cree.

Under the weight of current events, knowing that the man named Samoset had died rescuing him, Kitchi shrugged and shook his head. “I am well. The wound aches a little, but it’s fine. I...I’m sorry you lost your friend.”

The frontiersman nodded and turned to Sokanon. “Are you okay enough to return with me to Fort James? We have to get Brown.”

Sokanon took a long breath. “Yeah.”

“You don’t have to, Sokanon. I can go alone.”

“I’m fine, Declan.”

The man observed her a moment, then faced Dimanche. “Can you get the others to camp three? Once Sokanon and I have Brown, we’ll bring him there.”

Dimanche nodded.

“Okay then,” said Declan, looking over his people. “Be safe. We should reach the camp by tomorrow night at the latest.”

“That’s if you don’t come across trouble,” said Makkonen.

“Yeah. So, let’s hope we don’t,” returned Declan. He spun, stalking off into the woods, and Sokanon followed.

Dimanche led the others onward as instructed, and a few hours before the sun came up, he stopped them and made camp.

Coralee volunteered to stay up and help keep watch, but Makkonen urged her to rest, so she did. It seemed like she closed her eyes for a few minutes before being shaken gently awake. The young woman jumped from her slumber and sat up slowly, taking the dried meat and flat bread offered by her husband. Daylight was just beginning to break, and while she nibbled on her breakfast, Cora dazedly watched the others, each one of them as tired and sad as she.

They traveled predominantly in silence for most of the day, reaching a large Black Wolf post before sundown. Camp three. It was hidden deep in the woods far from any obvious trails, difficult to detect. Cora thought it had to be about twenty miles from Fort James. Half a dozen other Black Wolf members occupied the camp, none of which she’d seen before.

The day passed uneventfully, with Coralee spending most of her time resting in her and Makkonen’s lean-to. The mountain man accompanied some of the other warriors on a hunt, returning with a couple of deer.

Dimanche tended to Kitchi, making sure he was comfortable. The young man’s wound was out of its critical moments and healing well. It was by Grace’s good hand and the light of a miracle that he hadn’t caught an infection.

When night fell and camp settled down, Coralee snuggled against Makkonen in their lean-to. She listened to him breathing while he stroked her hair, until she fell asleep.

In the later hours, Declan, Sokanon, and Malcolm arrived.

The following day, the three of them and Dimanche took Kitchi back to his people. Kamenna was grateful to have her grandson back, but she wasn’t quick to look past what had been done, especially with Machk barking angrily in her ear. Once the _okimaw_ managed to quiet her second in command down a bit, she listened with an open mind to Malcolm’s plea and apology for his brother’s treachery. And after a little deliberation, Kamenna decided she believed him.

Business relations between the Lake Walkers and Low River Company, though on delicate terms, would remain intact. Meanwhile, Declan told her he’d work with Malcolm to get answers and find out why Cedric attacked and took Kitchi.

◄☼►

Things needed to cool down a bit. So rather than go anywhere near Fort James, Declan decided they should stay in camp three for a little while. On the afternoon of day six a Black Wolf member, a man of Scottish descent who’d been with Declan for some time, ran into camp, putting everyone on alert.

“Declan!” he called. “_Declan!_”

Cora stopped stirring the pot of rabbit stew she’d prepared and turned in the direction of his frantic voice. Makkonen, who sharpened his axe near her, also stopped. He stood.

Declan was working on tanning some hide. He turned and furrowed his brow at the man who’d halted by him. “William? What is it?”

William Campbell sucked in a breath, then another. “The Lake Walkers...they were attacked.”

◄☼►

Declan, Dimanche, and Sokanon traveled hard and fast to reach the Lake Walker village before the sun extinguished from the sky the following day. The tribe was on high alert, and the three outsiders were taken at arrow and gunpoint to Kamenna’s tipi, forced to stand by until the wise woman exited.

She looked stonier than usual, hollow, as her gaze slowly roamed Declan and his friends. More Lake Walkers gathered around. It was then that Declan noticed the four funeral pyres set up in the village center, the bodies ceremonially shrouded. A woman wailed softly over one of the corpses. Also, a few structures were fire damaged, one of the tipis completely destroyed. As if paying homage to the carnage and death, the post-sunset sky had been transformed into a mural of red and orange wreathed by puffy, purple clouds. The chilling wind whistled ominously.

“Kamenna, what’s happened?” Declan started.

She didn’t answer immediately, lost in sadness. “Someone attacked the night before last, killed my grandson, slit his throat,” she said, voice strangled.

Declan bowed his head, eyes searching the ground, anger building up.

“They burned some tipis.” She gestured to the one that took the most damage. “That one had a mother and two young children sleeping inside. And they now walk with the spirits as Kitchi does.”

“Fucking cowards,” the frontiersman hissed lowly. Rage filled him, and he worked diligently to contain it. He met Kamenna’s solemn gaze. “I’m so sorry. Did you catch who did this?”

“No.”

Declan’s face had become a mask of stone, large hands clenched at his sides. “I’ll find them.”

“This is all because of _you!_” roared Machk, moving in to Kamenna’s side. He glared at Declan. “You run around with those _white demons_, trying to forge alliances with them when you know they can’t be trusted!”

“How do you know whites attacked the village?” countered Declan.

“_Who else would’ve done it!_” Machk boiled furiously. Where Kamenna was open to working with outsiders so closely, he was not. He would certainly run things differently were _he_ the _okimaw._ “Why don’t you just go! Leave us to tend to our dead.”

Kamenna sighed. Usually, she would calm her right hand down, but she wouldn’t this time. She shared in his anger. Her eyes remained unwavering on Declan. “He’s right. Go. And you can tell Low River that the Lake Walkers will work with them no longer.”

The silver-streaked woman turned and went back into her tipi.

Declan, Sokanon, and Dimanche left the Lake Walker village with the frontiersman vowing to find out who’d done this to them, though he already had suspect number one in mind. Benton. Dissention between the Lake Walkers, Black Wolf Company, and Low River Company meant less opposition to the Hudson Bay Company’s fur monopoly.

◄☼►

Clenna Dolan’s first impression of the New World: _Wow. Grand, seen from the water as Captain Benedict’s ship approached. Hm, not too bad of a town, Fort James, several steps above shabby, though certainly not London._

_Mud!_

So much mud.

The young woman frowned faintly and gathered her skirt to lift the hem from the ground, exposing her beaten pair of boots. She walked briskly to keep up with Captain Benedict Johnson. Clenna found him to be a very determined, stern, and godly-devout man. Most importantly, he was inherently good. There had been a moment on the ship when one of his soldiers advanced inappropriately towards her, and Captain Benedict effectively shut the man down, making it clear that _no_ _one_ was to approach the young lady. He’d made sure she had her privacy in a cabin down the way from his too.

Most people didn’t seem to like the captain, but Clenna did. He made her feel safe.

Captain Johnson looked over his shoulder to the young Irish woman. He didn’t know what she’d done to deserve being dropped in a prison cell, and he didn’t ask. His orders were not only to deliver her to Lord Benton, but also to check in on the old man’s business dealings. It had come to the attention of the HBC bosses via some nameless communiques that Benton’s actions and interests weren’t fully supporting the company.

When Captain Johnson’s ship moored a couple of hours ago, he’d gone ashore with a small team and visited the Ale House, a central hub in the small trading town it seemed. He spoken with the red-haired owner, gotten a little information, including news of Governor Threadwell’s suicide and Lord Benton’s assumption as Fort James’s new leader. Now, the captain led Clenna to the governor’s house, where she’d be staying. A group of four soldiers also traveled with him.

Stately and strict, Johnson strode across the yard. Before he reached the steps leading into the large home, Lieutenant Vanstone intercepted him, saluting.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Vanstone said.

“Lieutenant.” Captain Johnson nodded curtly. “As you know, I’ve just arrived. I have Clenna Dolan here at the request of Lord Benton.”

“Yes, sir. He’s expecting you. This way please.”

Vanstone went inside, and Johnson, his soldiers, and Clenna followed. On the way through the house, Vanstone stopped at a common area and asked that Johnson’s men waited there, while he led the captain and Clenna to the stateroom.

Vanstone knocked once, then pushed the doors in. He pivoted aside so Johnson and Clenna could enter, then backed from the room, shutting the doors.

Lord Benton rose from his seat behind the desk. Captain Chesterfield stood by with hands clasped at the small of his back.

“Captain Johnson,” Benton began, dredging up a transparent smile.

“Lord Benton,” Johnson returned, his expression just as skeptical and untrusting.

Benton’s eyes skirted to Clenna and—if it were possible—his smile softened. “Miss Dolan.”

The young woman curtseyed as best she knew how, and Benton thought the inexperienced gesture only highlighted her Irish peasantry. “Milord,” she said softly, sensing a blanket of tension in the room.

Captain Chesterfield’s sharp moss-green eyes skimmed the woman. She was fair enough, though if given a choice of Irish women, he’d pick Grace Emberly without hesitation. The fiery woman challenged his patience and intellect, and he found it...refreshing. For now, he remained silent, hoping things played out the way he planned. Patience _was_ truly a virtue.

Lord Benton gestured to his liquor cart. “Would you like a drink, captain?”

“No.”

“Well, perhaps, you won’t mind if I have one.” The seasoned old man poured a little brandy and sipped.

Benedict Johnson almost rolled his eyes. “I would like to get to business, Lord Benton. First thing, the Company has concerns about profits and conduct, so over the course of the next week or _however_ long, I will be auditing. I’ll need full access to all ledgers and documentation.”

“Understood.” Benton took another sip.

“Second, I want to know why you’ve had this woman shipped to Fort James.” Yes, Johnson could’ve questioned Lord Fisher and the panel back in London about Clenna, but it seemed smarter to simply do as they said and get answers later. _Later_ was now.

“Well, this pertains to a young man named Michael Smyth,” Benton started.

Clenna’s heart skipped, and she tensed. “Michael…” she breathed.

Benton continued. “He became indentured to me, and in exchange for his service, I promised to reunite him with his beloved.”

As Johnson listened, questions formulated in his mind. His eyes narrowed. “What kind of service did this Michael Smyth provide to you?”

“He...was to help in the apprehension of a man I’m sure you’ve heard about. Declan Harp.”

Of course, Johnson heard of Harp. He’d been causing quite a stir within HBC operations. “How would he possibly assist in capturing the savage?”

Lord Benton finished his drink and set the snifter to the desktop. “He was instructed to infiltrate Harp’s forces, gain his trust, and deliver him into a trap. However, it seems that plan has fallen through. I haven’t heard from Michael in, what…” he nonchalantly paused to ponder, “...two months or so now?”

Clenna swallowed to dislodge the lump of dread in her throat. _Two months!_ Her clasped hands worked nervously, fiddling.

“I assume you’ve written him off then,” said Johnson.

Lord Benton shrugged, head tipping sideward, a bushy brow lifting. “Michael Smyth is smart and possesses a raw street-cunning that leads me to believe he’s managed to keep himself alive. He may yet still deliver on his services.”

Captain Johnson studied Benton. The man appeared calm and collected, in control, yet there was something undeniably nefarious about him. “I was told that the previous governor hanged himself. Did he seem troubled?”

“Threadwell was a man of many indulgences. Perhaps, his existence grew to be a tiresome burden,” replied Benton. “A soldier found his body hanging in this very room. From that”—his eyes yanked up a moment—“rafter.”

Clenna looked up as well, shivering as eerie, unseen fingers crept over her skin. Such talk made her uneasy.

Captain Johnson remained unfazed, eyes of steel on Benton. “I see. I would appreciate a full report on that as well from the soldier who found him. Take today to gather records. I’ll return tomorrow morning expecting to see those ledgers. Miss Dolan will stay here. You sent for her, so until further notice, you are responsible for her.”

“Understood.”

Johnson spun, pulled open the doors, and left.

Benton exchanged a look with Chesterfield, and the darkly handsome younger man knew his boss very much disliked Captain Benedict Johnson. Benton gave his attention to Clenna, donning his soft, charming smile once more.

“Well, my dear, let’s get you settled and comfortable, shall we?”


	20. The Redheaded Fire Under Jonathan's Ass

As much as Makkonen didn’t want to take Coralee anywhere near Fort James, that was exactly what happened. There weren’t many options. He could’ve left her back in camp three while he went with the others into town, but if something happened, he wouldn’t be around to look after her. Ultimately, the man was unwilling to have her out of his presence until he got her back up to the tribe.

So, there they were once again, hiding in the shadows of night like rodents in the patch of woods flanking Grace’s storehouse. Declan had sneaked into the Ale House ten minutes ago, and as usual, Mary got Grace’s attention and sent her to the back rooms. The Irish woman was still very cold towards Declan, though she kept things professional while updating him on the current climate of Fort James.

Due to Kitchi’s rescue, Benton was still on high alert.

Wind of the attack on the Lake Walkers had reached the town, and Mary’s ever-peeping ears caught a conversation between two soldiers that implied Benton could be the cause of that attack.

Lastly, a man named Captain Benedict Johnson had shown up four days ago bringing a young Irish lass with him, and she was under Benton’s care. Grace had tried to use Imogen and Mary to get more information out of the strict, handsome captain, but had failed to sway him, even with sexual diversion. She found out through Chesterfield—whom she’d formed an alliance with, though she didn’t share that with Declan—that Johnson was investigating the HBC’s ledgers and records thoroughly. If he dug deep enough, he might find that some of the product had been ‘misplaced’, courtesy of Grace and Chesterfield. Again, she didn’t mention herself or the dire English captain, making it sound like Benton was the only one on the line where Johnson was concerned. Her and Jonathan’s relationship was no one’s business but their own for the time being, though Grace was positive that Mary knew and silently observed.

Now, Makkonen stood in front of everyone else in the foliage, watching as Declan and Grace crossed from the dim torch light into the shadows alongside the storehouse. They stepped into the foliage with the others, hidden from any patrolling HBC soldiers.

“Grace, please tell Michael what you told me,” Declan said. He’d fill his people in on everything else later.

Grace’s eyes fixed on the young Irish man. “A woman arrived by ship since you all were last here. Rumor has it she was a prisoner ordered for release by Lord Benton. She’s staying with him. Imogen reported that her name is Clenna.”

Michael’s eyes widened, his expression brightening. He whirled to Declan, his voice desperate. “_I must go to her!_”

“Take it easy,” said Declan. “We’ll check it out.”

“We can’t exactly go waltzing back onto the compound. I’m not taking Coralee anywhere near there,” Makkonen droned deeply. He looked to Grace. “Maybe she could stay with you?”

Grace nodded. She wasn’t worried about Imogen; the whore despised Benton and knew it was in her best interest to remain loyal to Grace, at least for the time being. Grace knew without a doubt that she’d eventually have to handle Imogen. “Of course. She’ll be safe in the back rooms.”

◄☼►

After sharing a long, coveted hug and tender kiss with her husband, Coralee followed Grace into the Ale House using the rear entrance. The tavern owner gave her some soup, established she was alright, then left her in the back rooms to tend to her bar.

Cora ate on the soup slowly, grateful to be in from the elements. When she first encountered the biting cold of the north, she didn’t think anything would get her warm, and then she met Elizabeth and her friends in Montreal. She’d acclimated to Canada’s winter weather and established a job and shelter. She’d grown comfortable. Now her primary home was even further north with the Forest Cree, and damn, was it cold. But Makkonen heated her more than enough. He kept the chill at bay, holding her in the night while they slept in their tipi.

Being on the road again really made Cora appreciate her new home and the husband she shared it with. She couldn’t wait to be back in the village. Warm, safe, and protected. Moving from camp to camp and being subjected to the elements wasn’t something she remotely enjoyed.

◄☼►

The little bell over the Ale House’s front door rattled when Captain Chesterfield entered. Grace looked up to lock eyes with him and immediately knew he was irritated. His brow contained that familiar deep crease.

He started a path for the back rooms.

Grace quickly headed there as well and disappeared through the doorway. She saw Coralee sitting on a crate in the kitchen space and briskly waved the young woman away.

Cora gasped and ducked from sight a couple of seconds before Captain Chesterfield entered the area.

Grace had already moved to lean casually against her desk. She regarded Chesterfield calmly, arms crossed over her chest. “Ye look frazzled, Jonathan. What’s goin’ on?”

“What do you think, Grace?” The reply was _almost_ a snap. “I’ve got Benton breathing down my neck because Johnson’s breathing down ‘is. I swear, if that uppity fucker wasn’t out to get Benton, I’d kill him.”

Grace moved from her lean, going closer to him. “Ye’ve got to stay collected. Hold out a little longer. Benton will get what’s coming to him, and you’ll get this town.”

“Don’t tell me to _stay collected_,” Chesterfield said harshly. “You’re not the one under Benton’s constant scrutiny. Where’s the final ledger? I need it. Johnson’s gone crazy with his inspection.”

The captain paced a moment.

Hidden just twenty feet away behind the wall separating the kitchen from the office, Coralee hunkered and listened, small hands instinctively clasped over her mouth to catch any sounds that might slip free.

Grace went around the desk, tugged open a drawer, removed the ledger, and handed it to Chesterfield.

He took the record book and tucked it under his coat. Then, he closed the distance between him and the flame-maned woman, peering down. “This one better be as clean as the other two. If they find any discrepancies, I’ll make sure you hang with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, we’ve been through that. Just don’t get caught sneaking it back into Benton’s office. I have plans, Jonathan, and if you fumble them, I promise whatever the HBC does to you will seem like a picnic compared to what I do. Now go.”

And just when the captain didn’t think he could be more infatuated with her, the fiery minx…

He stared silently into her sharp eyes, before a smile slowly spread; Grace had to admit she would find him completely attractive if he wasn’t such a touchy prick, almost like a little boy who pouted his way through life because things didn’t constantly go his way. He was broken just like anyone else, her included.

Captain Chesterfield brazenly leaned into her and inhaled the sweet air that wafted from her hair and skin, then turned and left.

Grace went up to the doorway and watched from concealment as the man left her tavern. She sighed and turned towards the kitchen. “He’s gone. You can come out.”

Coralee slowly appeared around the wall. Hazel eyes remained on the Irish woman as she crossed the office towards Cora. Something in the way Grace examined her made small shivers dance across the negro woman’s caramel skin.

“Do me a favor,” voiced Grace flatly. “Don’t mention that he was here.”

Cora nodded quickly. “O-okay.”

Grace spun and left her in the back rooms alone once again. Coralee wasn’t sure what happened between the tavern owner and that man. What she _did_ know was that she’d do well not to get in the middle of it.

◄☼►

Since the rescue of Kitchi, security around Benton’s compound had been tightened. Aside from the stationary guards posted outside the front door, two other men roamed the premises looking for suspicious activity.

Declan, Michael, Sokanon, Makkonen, and Dimanche once more hid in a thick grove of foliage and watched the house. They surveilled in silence for nearly half an hour before Clenna Dolan moved by one of the upstairs bedroom windows.

“There she is!” Michael said softly, his ears filled by the thump of his heart.

The others observed the window. Clenna stopped by it long enough to pull the pins from her hair, letting its paleness tumble free.

Michael wished he could run his fingers through it. A dreamy glaze pulled over his eyes.

Hunkered beside him, Sokanon turned her vision in his direction to see how smitten he looked. She rolled her eyes and got another glimpse of Clenna, before the young Irish woman moved from the window. “She looks so..._skinny_.”

Declan regarded his sister-in-law with silent amusement. He wasn’t blind to how close she and Michael had gotten in the last two months. He’d watched them together. Sokanon liked him, and Michael seemed to like her too. The frontiersman was no love doctor, however. People had to work out their own relationships; he knew this very well, seeing as he _still_ loved Coralee. It would be interesting to see how things played out now that Michael’s Irish lass had entered the picture.

“We have to get her out of there, away from that man,” Michael said deeply.

“Whoa.” Declan faced him, speaking barely above a whisper. “Slow down. I don’t think she’s in immediate danger, and we can’t go in the same as we did with Kitchi. For starters, she’s in the house.”

“Then, I’ll sneak in.” Michael stared unflinchingly at Declan.

“Okay...but not tonight. Let’s get to camp.”

Michael drizzled a sigh and spared another long look to Clenna’s window. He and the others finally left Benton’s compound.

◄☼►

They stopped by the Ale House to pick up Coralee, then they camped a couple of miles down the river. They ate and settled down. Michael volunteered to take the first watch, and no one argued with him; they were all travel-worn.

The young Irishman waited until his companions were silent and resting, then he sneaked from camp and went back to Fort James. Back to his beloved Clenna.

◄☼►

Clenna tossed and turned. This was her fourth night staying under Lord Benton’s roof, and she still wasn’t used to it. Sure, she enjoyed the clean room and clothes, the food in her belly, the warmth of the fire. But, since the mention of Michael, she’d been restless and antsy.

She lay on her side staring at the candle on the nightstand, willing her mind to shut down so she could go to sleep.

_Tink._

Clenna’s brow furrowed, and she sat up.

_Tink._

Something was tapping her windowpane. She eased from bed, her long gown flowing around her. Slowly, she approached the window and peered out. She saw nothing at first, then a hand pressed to the glass, making her jump back. The owner of the hand lifted his head high enough so she could see his smiling face.

“_Michael!_” He’d scaled the wooden paneling along the side of the house. She gasped, quickly opening the window.

Michael climbed through carefully, keeping low. He’d had to skillfully dodge the roaming guards to get to her. “Oh, Clenna!”

He pulled her into his arms, each hugging tightly of the other.

“I’ve missed you so much!” she cried, keeping her words quiet. “I thought you were dead.”

He chuckled some. “There were times when I thought I was dead too.”

Clenna pulled back, wrinkling her nose. “You smell. Like...the wild. Are you running around with the man called Declan Harp?”

“Yes.”

“Lord Benton says he’s a bad man, Michael. A savage.”

Michael shook his head. “No, no. He’s not bad, just trying to keep the Hudson Bay Company from ruining this land and its people. Lord Benton is the one who’s bad, my love.”

“No, he’s not. He’s kind to me. He’s given me food, shelter, and clothes. And in return, he has asked nothing of me.” Clenna spared a look at the door. She wondered if she’d locked it. “Any other old man would try to get me into his bed, but Lord Benton has been honorable.”

“That’s because he’s hiding what he’s really like.”

Clenna lifted a smile and hugged him again. Her lips found his, and they indulged in a long-awaited, heated kiss. “Enough about him. Let’s get these clothes off you.”

“Mm…”

Everything slipped from Michael’s mind then. Declan, the resistance, Benton, the Lake Walkers. All of it. At that moment, only Clenna mattered. Desperate to be joined with her, the young man hastily tore off his attire. Her nightgown followed, and they made love.

Afterwards, Clenna rested against Michael, an arm draped over his chest. Michael wanted to remain there with her and enjoy their time, but that wasn’t an option. He kissed her passionately, then reluctantly slipped from bed and pulled his pants on.

“Clenna, you need to come with me.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m staying here.”

“You’re not safe.”

“So, ye keep sayin’. I’m sure it’s safer here than out there with wolves, bears, savages, and _whatever_ else,” she whispered back. “Why don’t you just go to Lord Benton, let him know you’re alright? Then you can turn over the savage Harp and be with me here.”

“I can’t do that.”

She shrugged, shaking her head. “Well, I’m not going out there. I—”

The doorknob rattled.

Clenna waved Michael under the bed, and he moved like lightning, scooting beneath, pulling his clothes under as well. She wrapped the covers up over her shoulders, flipped with her back to the door, and closed her eyes, willing her breaths to even out.

The lock clicked loose, and Benton silently entered the room. His keen eyes skimmed about. He went to the bed and held his lantern out to examine Clenna. Her shoulders rose and fell rhythmically. Satisfied that all seemed right, the lecherous man left.

Once the door clicked shut and the lock reengaged, Michael exhaled. He waited until Clenna gave him the signal before sliding from under the bed. He quickly pulled his clothes on.

“Clenna,” he pleaded again, “please come with me.”

She appeared hurt that he’d choose a life in the wild over her. “I can’t.”

Michael sighed. “I’ll come back for you.” He moved in to kiss her, then opened the window and climbed out. He needed more time to convince her but couldn’t risk staying there any longer.

Clenna went to the window and closed it. He could come back if he wished. Her answer, however, would be the same. She’d lived in hardship and poverty all her life, and now she was very well off with Lord Benton. She wasn’t about to give it up to go trekking through the wilds with some savage and his band of killers. Not even for Michael Smyth.

◄☼►

As Michael ran across the yard, Lord Benton watched from a darkened window. His eyes narrowed when the young man disappeared into the foliage.

◄☼►

When Michael got back to camp, he saw Sokanon standing watch in his place. The others were sleeping.

“You can go back to bed. I’ve got it.”

“Do you?” she challenged, the words harder than stone. “You went back to see _her_, didn’t you?”

Michael knew it was useless and counterproductive to lie, so he didn’t. “Yes.”

Sokanon shook her head. “Stupid. Declan said to wait. You could’ve gotten caught.”

“But I _didn’t_. Can we just drop it?”

She studied him, wanting to smack sense into him. “Fine.”

Sokanon climbed back in her sleep roll.

Lying on his side facing away from the fire and the arguing couple, Declan stared off into the woods.

◄☼►

The following day, they split into teams. Makkonen, Coralee, and Dimanche remained in camp. Declan and Michael went to get more information from Grace regarding Captain Johnson’s investigation of Lord Benton. It seemed the level-headed captain was convinced Benton was up to no good, and he was intent on proving it. Grace didn’t tell Declan about her and Chesterfield’s plans. It was none of his business.

While Declan communed with Grace. Sokanon and Michael were sent to tail Captain Chesterfield. It proved to be a daunting challenge since it was broad daylight, but it became easier once he crossed Fort James’s boundaries and took the road east for a mile. He left the road, slipping into the woods.

Sokanon and Michael carefully followed, staying well-hidden.

Chesterfield came to a small camp occupied by a single man. He had longish, dark hair and wore the same plaid sash as Malcolm.

Sokanon shifted slightly and narrowed her eyes, whispering. “Maclaughlin.”

“Who’s he?” asked Michael.

“Works with the Low River Company.”

The two of them watched and listened.

Maclaughlin stood and smiled at Chesterfield, holding out his hand.

Captain Chesterfield sneered. He’d just as soon cut the man’s hand off than shake it.

Maclaughlin shrugged. “You’re a serious wanker, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“As long as I get my silver, I don’t suppose I really care.”

Chesterfield offered the teeniest smile, dry and forced. He dug a sack of coin from his traveling bag and dropped it into the Scotsman’s palm. “You did good with the Lake Walkers. Killing that boy was the perfect touch. That will teach them to conduct business in HBC territory.”

Hiding behind a snow rift and camouflaged by coniferous saplings, Sokanon sucked in a breath. Her jaw clenched.

Maclaughlin chuckled and opened the sack to eye his pay. Satisfied, he turned his back to Chesterfield. It was a fatal mistake. As the Scotsman kneeled to stow the money in his traveling bag, the captain drew his pistol, aimed at the back of his head, and pulled the trigger. A chunk of Maclaughlin’s face blew off, along with bits of bone and brain, and his body dropped forward. Chesterfield coldly picked up the silver, skimmed the surrounding area, then headed back to Fort James.

◄☼►

“So, it _was_ Benton,” Declan gruffed, face carved in hard lines. “I knew it.”

Michael and Sokanon sat with the Black Wolf and the others around their campfire.

“He probably meant to try and frame the Browns for the attack on the Lake Walker village, further driving a wedge between them and the Scots,” said Makkonen.

Declan nodded. “It looks that way, yes.”

“This Maclaughlin fella—do you think he was working with Cedric when he shot and took Kitchi?” Michael inquired.

“It’s hard to tell,” said Sokanon. “It was no secret Cedric was the greedy one. Douglas is the logical businessman, and Malcolm is loyal to him. I think Cedric was trying to get more profits and it backfired. Perhaps, Benton hired Maclaughlin to keep things stirred, to deepen the rift between us, the Lake Walkers, and the Low River Company.”

Declan agreed with everything she said, slowly nodding. “It makes sense.”

“So, what now?” entered Dimanche. “Will you go back to tell Kamenna about this treachery?”

“Eventually,” said Declan. “Things to need to cool down first. In the meantime—”

“In the meantime, _what_?” Dimanche’s underlying irritation and anger finally began to seep through. He was hurt and furious that Samoset was no longer with them. “You go after Benton?”

“Yes,” Declan answered simply.

Dimanche shook his head, loosening a short, dry laugh. He stood, eyes fixed on his long-time friend. “No surprise there. How long are you going to chase that demon? Until _all_ of us are dead?”

The frontiersman knew well the tone in Dimanche’s voice. Slowly, he rose and moved closer to the shorter man. Declan’s face had gone stony and rough. “This is about Samoset.”

“He shouldn’t be dead, and it’s your fault.” Dimanche stood his ground. Most men were afraid of Declan Harp, but he wasn’t.

“Dimanche…” Sokanon started.

Declan silenced her with the quick wave his arm, eyes like daggers on Dimanche. “You’d best watch your tongue.”

“It’s true. He’s dead because you didn’t have a plan, because you thought it best to just go in for the boy.”

“I said _watch it_.”

Dimanche remained relentless. “Samoset’s blood is on _your_ hands! You’ve become blinded by the need for revenge, and in your attempt to take down Benton, you’ll get _every last one of us killed!_”

While Declan roared in rage, he jerked forward and headbutted Dimanche in the face. The River Dweller staggered.

“Declan!” cried Coralee, rising to stand with her husband, horror painted over her.

Dimanche recovered, his face contorted with anger. He meant to retaliate, but Makkonen wedged himself between the two men, holding Dimanche back. Declan didn’t move, silently daring the other man to take a swing, his eyes wild and challenging.

Everyone stood around in silence for a while, then Dimanche finally yanked back from Makkonen and wiped the blood from his busted nose. He glared at Declan. “You know what? I’m out of here. I’ll die one day, but it won’t be because of you.”

They watched the River Dweller man gather what little stuff he had, shoulder his travel bag and weapon, then stride stiffly from camp.

It wasn’t until he saw his friend’s retreating back that Declan’s expression softened, ironing out all vestiges of rage. What had he done? Was Dimanche right? Would he get them all killed? He spared a look to Coralee, the woman his heart wouldn’t easily purge, and she quickly turned her vision away from him. Declan flinched at the coldblooded fear he saw in her eyes, and it made him feel sick.

Sokanon caught Declan’s gaze, shaking her head. She ran to catch Dimanche. Sadly, she wouldn’t be able to change his mind. He was adamant about leaving the group and would return to the River Dweller village.

◄☼►

Things settled back down, and night draped over the land like a fine, star-speckled black cape. While everyone else sat close to the fire, Declan took up a topped log closer to the river’s edge. He quietly contemplated everything that had happened, most recently his fallout with Dimanche. He didn’t mean to lash out; he’d just gotten so used to physical violence that such responses became perfunctory.

The sound of boots on snow caught his ear, and he looked over at Coralee as she settled beside him on the log. Neither spoke at first, looking out across the water.

“Declan,” she began, “how are you feeling? I mean, I know you’re still facing Samoset’s death, all of this with the Lake Walkers, and now Dimanche leaving, but how are you _feeling?_”

He shrugged and kept looking forward, speaking softly and without malice. “I don’t know. How do I seem to you?”

Cora’s hazel eyes skimmed his bearded profile. “You seem...conflicted.”

His head turned, and mismatched eyes settled on her.

She continued. “What you think and what you do are two different things, and that has you divided.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” He gazed out over the river again.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry. It’s just you’re different since you found out Lord Benton had returned, since we got back down here.”

“No, don’t apologize. You’re right. I am...broken.” He chuffed, turning eyes to her again. “Vengeance is all I know now. I won’t stop until I get him. I can’t. This...this is the reason why I’m glad you ended up with Makkonen. If you had chosen me, you’d be tied up in my hunger for revenge, and I’d never wish that on you.”

“Oh, Declan…” Coralee scooted against his side, hugging.

Makkonen lingered by the campfire watching them closely. He found that he wasn’t jealous or angry. He felt sorry for his tribe-brother. Coralee was his friend, and her concerning attention was what he needed then.

Declan closed his eyes against her smell, kissing the softness of her hair. Sweet Coralee. “I want you to know that I’ll always love you.”

The young woman smiled gently. “I know. I love you too, and don’t you forget it.”

They sat there for a while longer watching the stars and listening to the evening.


	21. Answering the Call of Duty

Two weeks into his investigation on the Hudson Bay Company’s finances and the mysterious death of Governor Threadwell, Captain Benedict Johnson believed everything was sound and that he would have promising news to deliver to Lord Fisher back in London. That notion, however, was derailed by an unexpected visit and disturbing details from Captain Jonathan Chesterfield.

◄☼►

Lord Benton sat at the long table in the mansion’s dining hall, intending to enjoy his breakfast while watching out over the backyard. It made him happy to know that Declan Harp was in the area, if Michael’s visit to Clenna was any clue. It was only a matter of time before he captured the wild man.

He tucked the napkin down into his shirt and cut a piece of sausage. As he lifted the bite to his lips, the doors slid apart, and Captain Johnson, Captain Chesterfield, Lieutenant Vanstone, and five more of Benton’s men filed into the room, blocking his view of the yard.

Frowning, Benton set his fork down. “What’s the meaning of this? Get out.”

Johnson went closer and tossed an envelope to the table. “Yes, what _is_ the meaning of this?”

Smirking but intrigued, Benton grabbed up the envelope and studied it. What caught his eye most was the broken red wax seal stamped across the paper’s off-white surface. It was _his_ seal. The old man removed the document, sharp, dangerous eyes roaming over it. The message was addressed to some freelance fur trader, stating that a shipment was ready, and that the same payment was expected as before. And all of it was written in Benton’s tailored, rather elegant penmanship. A perfect forgery courtesy of Grace Emberly.

Lord Benton’s expression didn’t falter. He tossed the falsified letter to the table. “I would no sooner betray the Hudson Bay Company than I would God himself. This is fake.”

Johnson’s eyes narrowed. “I suppose just like your secret cache of furs in the woods, which you’ve been skimming from HBC stores?”

“What nonsense are you babbling on about?” Benton stood from his chair, and three of the men with Johnson drew their weapons.

“I know all about your schemes, Lord Benton,” said Johnson. “Captain Chesterfield told me everything, led me directly to the cache. He also told me how you killed Threadwell to gain the governorship, how you threatened him and others into silence.”

Benton sneered and turned eyes to Chesterfield, who watched him smugly. “I will skin you for your treachery.”

“I think not,” returned Chesterfield. “You’re going back to London to face a jury for your crimes.”

“Secure him,” Captain Johnson ordered, and two men went to take Benton’s arms, leading him from the dining room.

Benton snarled and bared his teeth as he passed Chesterfield. “I will get you for this! _I will!_”

◄☼►

Word spread quickly through Fort James of Lord Benton’s treasonous acts. The old man remained firmly secured in a cell on the governor’s premises for a week, while Captain Johnson prepared to sail back to London.

On the morning of departure, Johnson marched across the town with his soldiers and Benton bound as a prisoner. He’d be tossed in the ship’s brig for the duration of the trip.

Lord Benton glowered, boiling with fury below the surface. He met Captain Chesterfield’s satisfied smile across the gathered crowd; he stood just outside the Ale House near Grace. Benton’s eyes scanned around, over his shoulder. He shivered excitedly when he spotted Declan standing between two vendor stalls, mostly out of sight and inconspicuous.

Declan grinned darkly and waved.

Benton quickly faced forward. “Johnson! Johnson look! There’s Declan Harp! Right over—”

When Captain Johnson and his men looked in the direction, they saw nothing but gawking, gossiping townsfolk; Declan had easily vanished from the area.

Johnson smirked and nodded at the guard behind Benton, and the guard pushed him forward.

This would be the fitting end for Lord Archibald Benton. He would never come across a girlboy named Chaulk whom he’d be able to manipulate, no chance to devise a mutiny against Captain Johnson that would free him to continue his debauchery. No, none of that would happen. Instead, Archibald Benton would be delivered to the authorities in London without so much as a hiccup, where he’d find judgment on the end of a noose.

◄☼►

The day after Benton was shipped off by Captain Johnson, Grace went to the governor’s mansion, wanting to talk with its new inhabitant. One of the guards outside the door went inside, and a short moment later, he returned with Lieutenant Vanstone.

The lieutenant gestured for Grace to follow him. “This way, milady.”

Grace trailed him through the house to the stateroom. When Vanstone pushed the doors in, she saw Captain Chesterfield sitting behind the large desk. The lieutenant left them alone. Grace’s eyes roamed about the room before settling on Chesterfield.

“Finally got what you wanted,” she said.

Chesterfield grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Thanks greatly to you. You cooked those books like an expert. Of course, it really helped that the old fool entrapped himself by murdering Threadwell. And now _I’m_ the governor of Fort James. It all worked out perfectly.”

Grace crossed slender arms over her chest. “Maybe next time I tell ye to trust me, you’ll do it without so much whining, eh?”

Chesterfield chuckled softly. “Yes, I believe I will.”

“So, what now? Do I call ye ‘Captain Chesterfield’ or ‘Governor Chesterfield’?”

The British soldier stood and went to her, peering into her eyes. “Why don’t you continue to call me Jonathan.”

Grace almost thought she saw a vulnerable softness in his sultry green eyes, but she wouldn’t let her guard down. “Alright...Jonathan. Will you allow me to continue my...business?”

“You mean, will I allow you to continue skimming furs from the HBC for profits? That depends.”

“Depends on what?” Grace watched him closely. “We had a deal. I help you get this town, and you allow me to skim furs. You don’t intend to honor it?”

Chesterfield smiled at her. “Calm down, Grace. I will honor our deal. I just thought, perhaps, we could strengthen our alliance.”

Her eyes became narrow slits of scrutiny. “And just how would we do that?”

“Marriage.”

She snorted a chuckle. “Ye can’t be serious.”

“I am very serious.” Grace whisked away from him to go stare out the window, and he moved in behind her. “Think of it, Grace. Together we could _rule_ this town, watch it grow into what _we_ want. You want to continue helping women like Mary and Imogen, don’t you? With the riches we amassed, you could build houses and shelters.”

Grace thought she must’ve been going crazy because he was beginning to make sense.

Chesterfield continued, edging close enough for her to feel the intimate brush of his breath on the back of her ear. “Better yet, I know you’ve always wanted a farm. You spoke of it to me. You could build a big one and let those helpless women run it for you to earn a living.”

She spun to him...and didn’t feel shameful for wanting to kiss him. However, she refrained.

The man smiled warmly at her.

“I’ll think about it,” she finally said.

Chesterfield nodded. “That’s all I ask.”

Grace’s expression softened faintly, then she turned and left him grinning after her.

◄☼►

The whole ordeal with Lord Benton had planted clarity into Clenna’s mind. Michael had tried to tell her that the man was rotten, and she hadn’t listened. Now, he was gone, and Captain Chesterfield ruled as governor now. Clenna didn’t feel right living under his roof; she didn’t really like him. The young Irish woman and Michael drifted apart since he felt more at home in the company of Declan Harp than with her. People grew and adjusted, and the truth was that Michael had grown too big for her. She thought he’d lost sight of the dream they once shared, the dream of obtaining riches that would secure a comfortable existence for them. Clenna still wanted a cushy, civilized life, and Michael chose to survive with the savages.

So, she decided to leave Fort James.

Two weeks after Michael left the area with Declan and the others to head north, Clenna departed the fur trade town with a sizable caravan destined for Montreal. She heard that it was a large city of opportunity. The young woman’s adventure would lead to her finding work in widow Elizabeth Carruthers’s pelt processing factory. However, it wouldn’t be long before she crossed paths with Mr. Grant and Mr. Pond, gaining that life of ultimate luxury she always wanted...though at a very high price.

◄☼►

After almost two weeks of travel, Coralee was excited to see familiar sights. The bluffs and canyons framing the woods they traveled through marked them as close to the Forest Cree village.

“What are you smiling about?” came Makkonen’s rich, resonant voice as he moved in beside her.

“Just another day now, and we’ll be back home.” Cora’s smile deepened. “I can’t wait.”

Makkonen chuckled. “Me either. We can settle in and start a family.” The large man tenderly nudged her.

Blushing, Cora scanned ahead at the others—Declan in the lead, Sokanon and Michael walking and chatting not far behind him. None of them heard the conversation between her and her husband.

“I don’t think you’ll have to wait all that long to be a father.”

Makkonen stopped and gripped her slim shoulders, staring down, eyes searching hers. “What? Are you…?”

She blurted a giggle. “Pregnant? No. I just meant that once we’re back and not distracted, it won’t take much, I’m sure.”

The mountain man sighed, smiling lovingly at her. “No, I don’t think it will.”

They continued moving with the others.

◄☼►

When they hit the path on the other side of the lake mid-morning the next day, Coralee was all but bouncing in her boots. They were basically at the village’s front door now, starting the hike up to the plateau.

Like how Declan claimed sponsorship of Coralee, Sokanon would do the same for Michael. The two were an official item and had slept together a few times since leaving Fort James. The Irishman would be treated like an outsider seeking citizenship, expected to earn his way like anyone else. Though, generally, the Europeans were viewed as invasive and not to be trusted, it wasn’t impossible for a white person to be inducted into the Forest Cree tribe; aside from Michael, two other Europeans stayed in the village, living and existing as the people who took them in.

Michael had already been briefed. He addressed Sokanon as they ascended. “You really think they’ll let me stay?”

“It’ll take a little time, but I don’t see why not,” she said. Since the young Irishman had been loyally pulling his weight as part of the Black Wolf’s rebellion _and_ he had Sokanon’s favor, he’d most certainly be granted citizenship.

“If the Council decides against him, you could always just marry him,” Declan teased over his shoulder.

Both Cora and Makkonen were in earshot. She blushed softly while he replied in a humored quip, “Hey, worked for me.”

Sokanon also blushed.

Michael laughed deeply, and the Cree woman nudged him.

◄☼►

As usual, the village knew Declan and his group was on approach. The scouts had reported it yesterday. When they crossed through the guard post and into the village, Cora drew in a great breath and exhaled. She felt as if she’d competed in an almost insurmountable race, one full of danger and loss, and she’d finally reached the finish line.

She was home.

Makkonen drizzled a low chuckle beside her. “I’m happy to be back too, _apaskwaniy_. Now we can get to that baby-makin’.” The man playfully waggled his eyebrows.

Cora smirked and smacked his arm.

The mountain man’s laughter deepened.

“Makkonen?” Declan’s voice cut into the couple’s mirth.

The half negro, half Cree turned his attention to Declan, then swerved his gaze in the direction the frontiersman looked.

Standing up the path was a well-built black man in a long, fur-lined leather coat flanked by three others. White teeth flashed against his dark epidermis when he smiled at the arriving group.

Makkonen returned the smile, going over to lock forearms. “Charleston. When’d you and your crew get here?”

“Today will be a week ago,” he answered. “Your mother explained that you’d gone off south with Declan. It’s good to see you’re back safe. Can’t stay long, though, brother. We need to head out soon.”

Makk sighed and nodded. “Yeah.”

Coralee and the others had moved in. The young woman’s brow pinched in concern. “What do you mean ‘head out’? We just got back. You’re leaving again?”

The mountain man turned to her. “I’ll talk to you more about it a little later, hm, my sweet? Why don’t you go on to the tipi? I’ll be there shortly.”

Cora’s hazel vision swept from him to the group of strangers, the man named Charleston, then back to Makkonen. “Alright…”

She left the area with everyone watching after her.

Charleston turned a very amused expression to Makkonen.

“Her name is Coralee, ran away from a plantation. She’s my wife.”

“Your mother told us.” Charleston grinned at him. “I have to say, I never thought I’d see the day.”

Makkonen just rolled his eyes, then fixed his attention on the three others with Charleston. One he knew well, Atohi. A Cherokee man whose name translated to ‘woodsman’. He’d been with Charleston on all four liberation missions Makkonen helped with. One of the other men had skin the same color as Coralee’s and very curly hair; he was an obvious mix of black and white. The third man was Caucasian and very slender with hair the shade of dusky sand.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” said Atohi, going in to hug Makkonen. “Congratulations on your marriage. She’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. It’s good to see you’re still kickin’.”

“Charleston, Atohi,” said Declan. He knew them as well.

Charleston pointed to the mixed man, then the white one. “This is Dellwood and Cornelius. They’ll be helping with this mission.”

“A pleasure.” Makk nodded to them, and they returned the gesture.

Just then Mohco walked up. “Welcome back. The _okimaw_ is waiting for you to bring the stranger”—his eyes flicked to Michael—“to the village square.”

Charleston conjured a smile Makkonen’s way. “Definitely don’t want to keep your mother waiting.”

“No, we don’t. After I get settled, I’ll meet back up with you so we can talk about the mission,” Makkonen said.

“No hurry.” Charleston nodded. “I know the routine.”

Declan, Sokanon, Michael, and Makkonen started to the village square.

◄☼►

Michael’s meeting with Miyotehew went about the same as Cora’s had. Sokanon assumed responsibility for him while he was in the village. Tomorrow, he’d have an official hearing with the Council to decide if he’d be allowed to stay and, if so, for how long. He would most likely receive the same deal as Cora.

After the routine check-in with his mother and finding out that Piwan had left the village a couple of weeks ago, Makkonen went home. He paused outside the tipi and gathered a big breath, then entered. Coralee was lowered by the firepit trying to get the kindling to catch. The large man smiled, set his traveling gear down, and went to her.

“Here, let me.”

Cora sighed and let him take over. She watched him in silence for a moment. “That man Charleston, he’s here because you have one of your liberation things, right?” She wasn’t daft.

“Yes,” said Makkonen, getting the kindling lit. He placed some small logs to get the fire going and turned to go sit beside his wife on the furs, linking his arm to draw her close.

“When are you leaving?” Cora voiced quietly, her bright, beautiful eyes scanning his handsome features.

“I’m not sure. Usually, it’s within a couple of days of Charleston’s arrival. I’ll know exactly when I meet with the group later.”

“I see…”

Makkonen examined her worry-ridden face, tugging on a reassuring smile. He traced the back of his fingers along her fine jawline. “Don’t worry over it, _apaskwaniy_. This will be the last mission for me. I have you and our future to look forward to. Once I get back, I’ll be back for good. I’ll never leave you again.”

Cora closed her eyes, sighing as she leaned to rest her head on him. _This will be the last mission for me_. Those words kept ringing through her mind, conjuring forth a feeling of unease. Saying something like that almost always guaranteed the worst that could happen _would_ happen.

But, no. She couldn’t think that way. Makkonen had gone into the south to free slaves a few other times and he’d survived. He’d survive this final mission too, Cora firmly believed. She pulled back to look into the deep, soulful pools of his eyes, and they kissed. Cora attempted to get his clothes off, but the Iron Bull’s restraint was as solid as his namesake. With that playful smile of his, he teased her that she’d have to wait until later, as he had to meet with Charleston and the others.

◄☼►

Lunch was the slowest meal in the village, mostly because it usually consisted of breakfast leftovers _and_ because most citizens milled about to their chores, too busy to stop and eat right away. This made the dining lodge an ideal place to meet, not a lot of traffic or interruptions.

Makkonen entered the hexagonal wooden central structure and easily spotted Charleston and his group at a table near the hearth. He was surprised to see that Declan sat with them.

“You don’t usually attend these meetings,” said Makkonen.

“I want to come along,” said Declan.

Makkonen lifted a brow, taking a seat at the table. “I see. Now that Benton’s been shipped off, you have nothing to occupy your time?”

“Yeah. Something like that.”

The mountain man smiled and shrugged. “I’m not opposed to it. The more, the merrier.”

Charleston waited until the two tribe-brothers finished before he started. “We’ll have to leave the day after tomorrow since we’re running almost a week behind. We’ll travel hard and fast to swing by Montreal and pick up the rest of our group.”

“Understood.” Makkonen nodded. Inwardly, he pictured Coralee’s lovely face draped in a mixture of apprehension, weariness, and sadness. Upset that he had to leave so soon. His dark, soulful gaze shifted to everyone at the table. “I want it to be known now that this is my last mission, fellas. It’s been an honor, but I have my wife to think of.”

Atohi smiled. “I expected no less.”

“It’d probably be the last for me too if I had a pretty thing like her,” quipped Charleston, smiling at the half Cree, half black man who’d grown to be like a brother to him. “Hell, I wouldn’t blame you or hold ill bearing if you decided not to go to this time.”

“No, I’m going. I already committed to it before we last parted ways,” said Makkonen. “So, where are we raiding?”

“Sizable plantation in South Carolina named Scarlet Fields.”

Declan and Makkonen immediately shared a long stare, then faced Charleston and the others.

It didn’t take much for Charleston to put the pieces together. His eyes locked to and searched Makkonen’s. “Your lady’s from that slave factory.”

The mountain man nodded once. “Yes.”

The men sat in contemplative silence for a moment, before Atohi said, “She was brave to run. Sources reported that four men were hanged in the last year just for sport. They didn’t try to run or anything. And the master of that hell hole, Felton Cassidy, has grown very comfortable with rape. Liberation needs to happen _now_.”

“I agree,” said Makkonen, his jaw clenched angrily as he listened. If his precious Coralee hadn’t gotten away, she would’ve certainly been one to suffer that devilish slave master’s assault; he had been working his way up to it. “Is the plan to liberate only, or do we kill every non-slave in sight?”

“We kill overseers only,” said Cornelius, swiping his longish sandy hair back from his eyes. “Cassidy has a wife, Laura, and a young son. They aren’t to be harmed. She’s our person on the inside.”

Makkonen chuffed and leaned back in his chair. “What?”

“That’s what it is, brother,” entered Charleston. “Miss Laura doesn’t love her husband. She was forced to marry him by her father, who only wanted that Cassidy cotton money. She’s been working with our cause at a very high risk to herself. She said he’s hit her several times in anger and is being unnecessarily nasty to the slaves, which we knew. She’s worried for her son. He’s five. Miss Laura knows it’s only a matter of time before her husband focuses on the boy. For now, she takes those beatings for him. She’s in just as much turmoil and danger as the slaves.”

Makkonen sighed, shaking his head. “And you think her information can be trusted, that _she_ can be trusted?”

“Yes,” Charleston answered without hesitation. “She’s a good woman, a victim of circumstance like anyone else. She only wants what’s good for her and the boy. Felton Cassidy—he ain’t no good.”

Makkonen thought over a previous conversation with Coralee, before they were married, during one of their talks after she first arrived at the village. She spoke very highly of Laura Cassidy, revealed that the woman was the one who assisted in her escape. He nodded at Charleston. “Okay. I don’t want Cora to know where we’re going. You all understand that?”

Each man nodded.

Makkonen’s features sharpened, and he leaned forward. “What’s the plan?”

◄☼►

That night after a fulfilling dinner of roasted caribou, root vegetables, and stewed apples with spices, Coralee and Makkonen settled on their furs. He spooned around her while they stared at the low, crackling fire. The young woman hadn’t been as talkative since she found out earlier that day he was leaving again, and he sensed her unease as openly as if it were his own.

Makkonen’s arm tightened around her, and he kissed her hair. “_Apaskwaniy_, don’t worry,” he whispered.

Coralee sighed and shrugged. “How can I not? The man I love is going down into the south willingly, knowing how dangerous it is. But...I can’t be mad. You’re going to help people. It’s just...I have a bad feeling about it.”

“It’s normal to feel that way. I get nervous every time I venture down there,” he said. “I stand out like a streak of red paint on a white house, which is why we travel mostly at night. I know you’re worried, my heart, but everything will be fine.”

“I can’t stop imagining if they caught you.” She flipped over to gaze into his handsomely chiseled features. “A specimen like you? They’d try to break you and chain you in a buck farm, force you to...to be with women so they can bear big, strong workers. And I-I’d never see you again…”

She was on the verge of tears.

Makkonen released a hefty sigh and settled tender eyes on her. “Do you think I’d let that happen? They’d never take me alive. I will _die _fighting them if it comes to that, but it won’t.”

“How do you know that!” The water dangling in her eyes finally dropped, tears streaking down her face. She sobbed softly.

“Oh, Cora, my heart…” Makkonen closed his eyes and hugged her firmly to him. “Stop worrying. Everything will be okay.”

She pulled back to look at him, then nodded, smiled, and nestled close once more. The couple decided to forego intimacy that night, reflecting on coming events.

◄☼►

The following day looked brighter for Cora. She didn’t want to fixate on what could go wrong with her husband’s mission, so she rose, freshened up, and got on her chores. Anything to keep her busy. Amidst hanging clothes to dry, she looked across the laundry area to see a smiling Makkonen heading for her.

Cora gasped, then giggled and hurried to him. Her stark hazel eyes roamed his face. He had completely scraped the beard off. “So, that’s what you look like under there,” she said, lifting a small hand to rub over his smooth jaw.

He chuckled. “Yeah. Figured I’d change it up for travel. I know how much you liked the beard, and I’ll return with one.”

She shrugged and raised on her toes to plant a kiss on his hairless chin. “I like it both ways, but yes, I do so love a beard on you.”

“Mm.” He grinned. “I have to get some things ready before we head out, or I’d ask you to have lunch with me. I promise I’ll be all yours in a few hours, though.”

“I can’t wait,” she drawled sensuously.

They kissed, then she watched him move off, before finishing up the laundry.

◄☼►

The day passed, eventually bringing man and wife together. They were so hungry for one another that they forewent dinner and immediately pulled each other’s clothes off, jumping into feverish lovemaking by the fire in their tipi.

Makkonen sat up with Coralee straddling atop him, her legs wrapped around his waist, arms gripped about his shoulders as she rode him. The mountain man’s large hands clutched her thighs and bottom, lifting her up and down the length of his throbbing hardness. He groaned thickly and nipped her chin when she tossed her head back, her lovely eyes rolling in ecstasy.

Coralee held firmly to him, slamming her hips down rhythmically, lost in the pleasure, his girthy manhood filling her tight, wet heat over and over. She could feel her climax building, lingering just past the horizon. The young woman whipped her head forward, and the lovers stared into one another’s eyes. She caressed his smooth face, already pricked by the lightest stubble, which tickled her breasts when he nuzzled.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I will always love you, only you…”

They lingered in their moment of passion, uncaring of anything else in the world but each other, there and then. When they finally settled in, Makkonen lay staring at the tipi’s conical ceiling, pondering while he held the dear treasure of his wife against him. She snored softly in the night, a pleasantly monotonous sound that eventually drove him into slumber as well.


	22. Vengeance from the Lady of the House

The next morning came too soon for Cora, Makkonen too. The couple rose early enough to make love again, before getting ready and sharing a private, intimate breakfast around their fire. Now, as they approached the rest of the group gathered on the path down from the plateau, Coralee clung to her husband’s arm with both hands, continuously squeezing and rubbing his bicep through the layers of his traveling garb. She felt terrible, like she was being marched to the gallows or some other ill fate that would mark the end of her life. Hazel eyes scanned everyone present.

Miyotehew, Krem, Mohco, some other warriors, Declan, Sokanon, Michael, Charleston and his people. Cora and Makkonen were the last to arrive, and everyone else had said their goodbyes.

Miyotehew went to her son and waited for him to put down his traveling bag and axe. Like she did before he left on the other four missions to the south, she stepped in and embraced him tightly.

“My son.”

Makkonen wrapped her close and kissed her forehead. “Mother.”

The _okimaw_ pulled back to fix her eyes on his. “The spirits of our ancestors will be with you. They always are. You will return safe. I know this.”

“Yes, I will. Love you.”

“You are the greatest love of my life, Makkonen, the greatest gift I could ever receive, given to me by the most wonderful man. I love you, my son.”

Cora stood by and watched them embrace again, doing everything she could to hold back the tears. She pushed down the lump in her throat when Makkonen turned to her. When his arms embraced her, Coralee sank into him, nuzzling his chest, eyes closed. Makkonen kissed the top of her hair, lips lingering in her soft, kinky locks, which flowed unfettered over her shoulders and down her back.

The large man retracted and stared down at her. He saw that her lips trembled, and tears had gathered in her eyes. “Everything will be fine, Coralee. I’ll return before you even start to miss me.”

“I miss you already,” she breathed. Still, the tears didn’t fall. She was determined to hold them at bay.

Makkonen chuckled and caressed her cheek. “Mm. I miss you too. I need you to be strong for me, _apaskwaniy_. Can you do that?”

Cora sighed miserably, nodding. “Yes.”

“I know you can. The village will look out for you, protect you.” He lowered his mouth to hers, and they kissed long and tender.

Charleston observed with an envious but empathetic heart. He shared a love like theirs once. With his wife Sally. She’d also escaped from a plantation, a smart and lovely woman. They’d been happily married for nearly two years when she fell ill and died. Watching Makk and his lady reminded him of the time he spent with his dear, sweet Sally. Charleston smiled a bit. He’d not rush them, not when time was already so fleeting, and the moments were numbered.

Makkonen breathed Cora in deeply, then dropped his forehead to hers. “I love you, woman.”

“I love you, big man.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded. “I know.”

The couple finally broke their embrace, and Cora went to Declan, hugging him. “Take care of yourself and look after Makkonen. Look after one another. I need you _both_ to return home.”

The frontiersman kissed her forehead and smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back. I’m looking forward to all the nieces and nephews I’ll have to spoil.”

His response made Cora laugh, and as she stared up into his rugged, thickly bearded features, she knew without a doubt that if Makkonen hadn’t crossed her path—or if he had crossed it a little later—she would’ve ended up happily married to Declan Harp.

“Be safe out there, Declan,” she uttered.

“Always.” He released her.

Coralee moved to stand between Sokanon—who’d said her goodbyes to Makkonen—and Miyotehew. Krem had also bid Makkonen farewell and good travels. They watched as the group of slave liberators adjusted their traveling gear and started down the path for the village’s main entrance.

As Makkonen got further from her, Coralee began to feel the physical burden of her heart, which seemed to become as cold and heavy as a stone in her chest. And she could hold back the tears no longer. They flooded her eyes and blurred her sight.

“Makkonen!”

The young beauty broke into a run just as her husband and the others crossed the threshold out of the village.

The mountain man turned to her flying towards him. He opened his arms to catch her, both holding as tight as they could. He lifted her from the ground, and her little feet dangled. Coralee openly sobbed.

“I’m going to miss you so much! I don’t want to be apart!” she cried, gripping his clean-shaven face in her hands and passionately kissing him.

Makkonen returned the kiss with matching fervor. He sighed and pulled back, lowering her to the ground. “When I return, we’ll never be apart again. I promise.”

Coralee dropped her head to his chest and wept.

“_Apaskwaniy_, don’t cry. I want to take your beautiful smile with me, not your tears,” he said gently.

Coralee smirked and smacked his chest. “How can I _not_ cry when you say stuff like that!”

“Well, you know me…” Makkonen shrugged, grinning.

She issued a shaky laugh, inhaled long and slow, then exhaled.

“Better now?” He hugged her against him.

Cora nodded. “Yes. You better come back to me.”

“I will, my heart.”

They shared another kiss, then the mountain man turned and departed with the others, leaving Coralee to watch after them.

◄☼►

Two months had passed since Makkonen left. Every day Cora prayed that her beloved would return home safely and soon, but time seemed to mock her, crawling forward painfully slow. At that rate, it would be an eternity before she saw him again.

Or so she felt.

She also felt...ill. Truly ill. She’d awakened the past few days with an upset stomach and overall reduced appetite. And her womanly time was nearly a month late. Cora knew she was pregnant and had yet to share the news with anyone. Most of her free time was spent being tired and emotional in her and Makkonen’s tipi.

Now, having finished up her chores, she sat alone at a table in the dining lodge picking at the food on her plate. She hadn’t eaten much in the last couple of days, but she had to feed her bubbling stomach. The young woman could almost hear her husband’s deep, insistent tone, telling her she had to eat to keep her strength up or something along that line.

Smirking thinly, she popped a piece of roasted meat in her mouth, chewing slowly.

“Hey,” Sokanon set her plate down across from Coralee and sat. She immediately started digging into her meal.

“Hey.” Cora eyed the stuff piled on the woman’s plate. Some of the same roasted meat, wild greens, a pool of some reddish stuff with little nuggets in it. Something about the smell of that item bugged her fiercely. She pushed her plate aside. “Where is Michael?”

“Out with the hunters, making himself useful,” Sokanon said. She saw Cora wasn’t eating. Her eyes narrowed. “Something wrong with your food?”

“No. I’m just...not all that hungry.”

“Oh.” The Cree woman shrugged and stuffed more food in her mouth, including some of the lumpy red stuff.

Cora cringed, feeling the bile rise in the back of her throat, the inside of her mouth growing watery. “What _is_ that?”

“This?” Sokanon prodded the item with her spoon. “Cranberry and radish sauce. Real good. Goes well with—”

The southern woman jumped up and ran out of the lodge.

Sokanon followed. She went around the side of the structure to see Coralee hunched over, puking into some bushes. She waited until her friend was done.

Cora sighed, wiped her mouth, and leaned back to the lodge wall. When she locked eyes with Sokanon, the Cree warrior woman grinned.

“You’re with child.”

“Yeah…” answered Cora weakly.

“And you didn’t tell me?” Sokanon chuffed, then hurried forward and pulled her into a hug.

Cora groaned. “Careful. I could stand to throw up some more, you know.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“No.”

Sokanon laughed greatly. “Come. We must tell the child’s grandmother.”

◄☼►

From the Forest Cree village to Montreal, down through New York, Pennsylvania, a sliver of Maryland, Virginia, North Carolina, and finally into South Carolina—a journey that took just short of four months. It might’ve taken a few weeks less if they didn’t have to be so careful.

The sun had begun to rise, and Makkonen just finished his watch. Keeping up his clean-shaveness, he stood by the fire outside James and Susannah Inglewood’s house and scanned the surrounding woods, the quaint country lane leading up to the place. The couple was part of a large network of liberation supporters that helped get Makk and the others down into the south. The Inglewoods and people like them had secret rooms and cellars for hiding runaways and liberators, and they put their lives on the line to deceive slavecatchers and the like.

Back in Montreal, Charleston and his group picked up five others, and they all traveled as one until North Carolina. When they crossed the state line, the other five split off to prepare for their part of the attack on Scarlet Fields.

Makkonen heard grass rustle and turned partly over his shoulder. He lifted a brow and grinned at Declan, who had come from around back. The Cree Irishman used the outside basin to wash up and shave his beard off.

“Now we match,” Makkonen joked.

Declan shrugged, continuing to roll his sleeves up. “It’s so damn hot and muggy down here, I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t, brother. That beard had grown so full, it looked like someone glued a coyote to your face.”

Declan smirked, and Makkonen chuckled more.

The door opened, and Charleston exited, taking the steps down into the yard. He’d had first watch, along with Atohi and Dellwood; Cornelius stood watch with Makkonen and Declan.

“Miss Susannah is whipping up some breakfast, then we must move on fellas,” said Charleston. “We’re in the deep south now, heart of the evil. No need to endanger the Inglewoods longer than we have to.”

“Agreed.” Makkonen pulled his long, thick, dark hair back into a tail at the nape of his neck. “I think we should aim to be gone within the hour.”

“Right. I’ll inform the other three,” said Charleston, then left the tribe-brothers out in the yard.

Declan studied the surrounding greenery. Wild grass and flowers. Whimsical willow trees with their sweeping branches and leafy tendrils. “It’s very beautiful down here. Too bad the land is tainted by the inhumanity of slavery and...lynchings.”

They’d come across two unfortunate and macabre scenes since entering South Carolina. Both were black men, barely recognizable as such, save for sections of skin that remained uncharred, their bodies left to hang and sway from the branches of willows like strange, horrible fruits.

Makkonen nodded. “Yeah. To think my father escaped this beautiful hell, braved whatever necessary to be free. To think that _Coralee_ did it. I miss her so much.” He smiled, picturing his wife.

Declan’s hand fell on his shoulder. “Almost done here, brother. Two days and we raid that plantation, free the slaves. Then we can get home.”

The mountain man sighed. He finally nodded. They waited until Charleston and Atohi finished their breakfast and came to relieve them so they could eat. The group of liberators was on their way soon after.

◄☼►

They tried to travel mostly at night, but that wasn’t always possible, since night travel usually required that they had a safehouse to hole up in during daylight. A place like the Inglewoods. They were too close to _not_ use the day for travel; time was critical.

They put down camp deep in the woods just outside the providence of Georgetown, and Atohi, Charleston, and Declan took the first watch. The Cree Irishman sat with his back against a tree and watched out over the adjacent pond. He almost didn’t hear Charleston approach. The man handed Declan a cup of freshly brewed coffee and sat on the grass beside him.

“Thanks.” Declan sipped it.

Charleston nodded. “How’s this southern heat treatin’ you? Looks like your clothes fit a little looser.”

Declan lifted a brow and shrugged, his expression vaguely amused. “I’m sure I’ve shed a few pounds. All the walking paired with sweating in his ridiculous heat.”

Charleston chuckled. “Oh, you stay down here long enough, you get used to it.”

“Nah.” Declan drank more coffee. “I’m not trying to stay in the south longer than I have to.”

“I hear you on that.” A bit of silence passed. “I don’t know if Makkonen ever told you, but I used to be married. My sweet Sally.”

“No, he didn’t. What happened to her?”

Charleston hesitated. “Died, got sick and couldn’t fight it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She was a good woman.”

“I’m sure she was,” said Declan deeply.

“When I watched Makkonen and Coralee together, it made me think of Sally and me, how we used to be. A love like that changes a man, makes him better. Whole. She’s the best thing that ever happened to him, just like Sally was to me. Makkonen’s a good man who deserves all the time he can get with Coralee, and I aim to make sure he returns to her.”

The frontiersman studied Charleston’s profile. He nodded. “As do I.”

A series of whistles came from the trees. Atohi was already on alert. Makkonen, Dellwood, and Cornelius were resting but not yet asleep. The three of them also grabbed up their guns, Makkonen’s trusty axe lying within easy reach as well.

Atohi waved his arm to put them at ease, speaking lowly. “It’s alright. It’s Yas.”

Charleston stood and turned to watch as Yas approached their small fire. He chuckled a bit. “Man, you look like a ghost coming from the shadows like that.”

Yas was Navajo. His name meant ‘Snow’, which was fitting. The young man was albino, with skin paler than that of any European man. Fashioned into a thick, long braid down his back, his hair was stark white. His eyes, sensitive to bright light, were the color of pale blue ice. Yas was one of the five Charleston, Makkonen, and the others met up with in Montreal. The Navajo man and his group were the ones who broke off from the others in North Carolina.

He shook his head at Charleston. “Ghost, huh? Not original, my friend. I came to report that everyone is in position and ready to attack tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” said Charleston. He went to his gear and pulled out the sketch of the Scarlet Fields plantation and immediate surrounding terrain. “Let’s all go over this again. I don’t want to lose anyone in this raid. This plantation is one of the bigger ones we’ve taken on.”

The diagram depicted a detailed layout of the cotton farm, including slave quarters, overseers’ quarters, the main house, stables, and such. There were lines drawn to symbolize the overseers’ guard rotations and patrols. Declan and Atohi kept eyes outward, watching for enemies, listening closely while the others discussed the strategy one last time.

◄☼►

Four months now since Makkonen left for the south.

It was mid-spring. The snow had melted, leaving the land fresh and green. This was Cora’s first spring with the tribe, and she was finding it to be most enchanting, despite her husband being absent for an extremely dangerous mission. She sat in her favorite place near the main village entrance and looked out over the lake, the water gleaming and rippling on such a fine day. The young woman hummed to herself while rubbing the growing bump of her stomach. It wasn’t very big, but prominent enough that she’d had to expand the waist and front of her pants some. She also took to wearing slightly larger shirts, a few of which were Makkonen’s.

Cora spotted movement from the corner of her vision and turned as Miyotehew sat on the log beside her.

The _okimaw_ smiled softly, eyeing her belly. “How are you feeling today?”

“I’m doing good,” Cora said, returning the smile.

“Still getting sick?”

“Not much. Though, the smell of some things, like coffee, makes my stomach turn. But other than that, I feel great.

“You look great. Healthy. May I?” Miyotehew grinned at her, eyes dropping to her midsection again, hand poised to touch.

Coralee chuckled. “Well, you can, but the baby doesn’t really move much right now.”

“That’s alright. I can sense its life.” Miyotehew laid a hand over her daughter-in-law’s belly, rubbing. “Makkonen will return, you know.”

Cora nodded, sparing a look at the mother of the man she loved. She peered out at the lake again. “Yes, I know. He’s alive out there, I can feel it. He’ll come back to us. He will…”

The two of them sat there for a while, enjoying the fresh air and lingering in positive thoughts.

◄☼►

Laura Cassidy stood on the huge front porch of Scarlet Field’s main house. She’d just put little Andrew to bed, the five-year-old knackered from a long day of playing and running about. Her precious baby.

Her mind was fixed on what was to transpire tomorrow night. She’d done her part, having given out pertinent information that would allow the liberators to storm the plantation. If things went smoothly, she’d never have to worry about her mangy, foul-tempered, whore of a husband anymore. She wouldn’t have to fear getting beaten by him anymore, wouldn’t have to protect her baby from him. Pale, slender fingers brushed the bruise high on her cheek. She had a busted lip too. Injuries inflicted the previous night after she got sassy and talked back to a drunk Felton Cassidy.

And speaking of the son of a bitch.

Laura’s eyes narrowed to see him coming from the direction of the slave shacks, doing that ridiculous, self-righteous swagger of his. She didn’t move as he all but hopped up the wide steps, grinning crookedly at her.

“You ain’t got nothin’ to say tonight, do you?” he said challengingly.

Laura remained silent, eyes dropping to his unopened pants. He so enjoyed throwing his infidelities in her face, not knowing that she didn’t care because she didn’t love him.

Felton smirked, then spat over the porch railing. “Didn’t think so.”

He went inside.

Laura finally exhaled. She prayed things went well tomorrow night. She wanted the bastard dead and hoped she was there when the liberators killed him, so he could look in her eyes and know it was her. So he realized _she_, her betrayal, was the reason for his death.


	23. Lean, Mean Anna Jean's Road to Freedom

_It wasn’t all bad, though. I used to wait until the overseers shut the fields down, then sneak out there to watch the sunset, spreading that reddish-pink glow over a sea of cotton. It’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen…_

Coralee’s words during their deep talk back in the cave, a time that seemed so long passed but was only months ago. And now, the mountain man and the others stood just inside the trees west of Scarlet Fields plantation with the sun sitting on the edge of the horizon, basting the cotton fields with a reddish tint, the plants rippling in the breeze. It really was quite beautiful.

But, as Cora said just after that, many people had suffered and slaved for that white gold, and the sunset’s diffused light symbolized their spilled blood. Makkonen reached into a pocket and pulled out a thin braid of hair. It was Coralee’s. He cut some of her lovely locks free while she slept the night before he left. She had so much hair, she’d never miss it. Makkonen just wanted to take a piece of her with him.

He shut his eyes against the scarlet fields of cotton below, put the braid to his mouth, inhaled it, then kissed it. He tucked the coveted item away as Charleston moved up beside him.

“Sun’s almost down. You ready, brother?”

“Let’s do this.”

◄☼►

The lady of Sunset Fields stood on the large upstairs balcony overlooking the premises. It was fully dark out, with lanterns forming blinks of light at the slaves’ quarters down the way and the overseer houses on the far side of the stables. Soon, it would all begin.

Laura spoke over her shoulder to Cordelia, one of her most trusted house slaves. More of a friend, unknown to her husband. “Have the dogs been fed?”

Cordelia nodded and clasped her hands in front of her. She knew well the plan. Her thick hair was pulled back and braided, coiled on her head, and covered by a bonnet. “Yes’sum. They were fed an hour ago.”

“Very good.” Laura nodded, her expression one of great satisfaction. “Please go and tend to Andrew. Remain with him until it’s over.”

“I’ll guard him with my life.” Cordelia nodded and left her alone.

◄☼►

Once more the liberation party had split into two groups. One was headed by Charleston, the other by Yas. The albino Navajo took his team of seven north to cover that end of the property. If anyone intended to use the main road to visit the plantation that night, they’d be stopped. One way or another.

Charleston and his team went south through the fields, staying low to avoid roaming guard overseers. An approaching lantern on the path splicing through the fields headed their direction.

“_Get down_,” Charleston hissed softly, and all men dropped prone to the ground, hidden by the cotton.

They waited until the overseer on horseback went by before slowly standing.

“What about the dogs?” said Makkonen, dark eyes fixed in the direction of the big house. He knew from the plans and layouts they’d all studied that the kennel was near it. “You think Mrs. Cassidy came through?”

Charleston propped a finger thoughtfully in the air. “You hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Charleston smiled a bit at Makkonen. “Exactly. No barking. She handled the dogs like she said she would. We need to get to the stables. Our inside contact should be waiting.”

◄☼►

The dogs.

All four of them, sadly, had to be silenced to give the best chance of success. They’d been fed, their food laced with poison. Now, their furry corpses lay silently in the fenced and gated kennel.

An overseer on his rounds approached the holding area. As he’d done on his rotation many times before, he stopped at the fence, ready to praise and pet the dogs. When he got close and kneeled, and his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he saw the four animals laid out motionless.

The overseer frowned thickly. “Hey, boys.” He whistled sharply. “C’mon. Get on up.”

He realized quickly that they were dead.

“Shit.”

The overseer got to his feet and prepared to run off and alert. However, he never got the chance. Someone eased up behind him and slit his throat, then dragged his body around the side of the kennel from sight.

Yas glared down at the slaver, no remorse in his pale eyes. He looked over his shoulder and waved to one of the men in his team, and the two of them continued sneaking through the shadows, ready to dispatch whoever might jeopardize the mission.

◄☼►

Over in the slave yard, the workers knew something was going down. Some of them had prepared to fight, while most were in their shacks cowering in wait. The thing about liberation attacks is that no one saw them coming. The inside help, such as Miss Laura and select negroes, kept most of the slave populace clueless to eliminate panic and to keep the tattles from having a heads up. There were some slaves who were so dependent on their masters that they’d do anything to remain in their custody, including rat out talk of a possible uprising.

The attack on Scarlet Fields would no doubt contain such lost souls, those that were beyond saving.

◄☼►

The way to the stables was straightforward, but it took Charleston and his group a moment to get there. They had to dodge three overseers on the way. Inside information revealed that a section of panels on the east wall could be shifted to give easy access.

They reached the spot, and Declan gripped, carefully tugging the section aside, forming a slit two feet wide. Charleston went in first. The others waited for a few seconds, then he popped his head back out and waved them in. Once inside, the group allowed their eyes to adjust. They found themselves in the back of a pen stacked with hay bales.

Makkonen clutched his rifle, slowly making his way forward and around the bales with his fellow men. Everything was quiet, save for the low snorts and rumbles of horses from their stalls. The air was ripe with the odor of dung and fresh hay.

The men crept up to the edge of the pen, staying low, blending with the shadows. Movement to the left drew all their eyes.

A negro woman melded from the dimness. She wore a shirt tucked into a pair of high-waist pants and boots, her braided hair pulled back. Clearly, she was their contact. Ready for the raid. Ready to run.

She looked quickly over her shoulder to the ajar doors of the stable, then moved swiftly to them. “Right on time.”

“Good job with the dogs,” said Charleston.

“Yep. Fed ‘em myself. I’m Anna Jean. You’re Charleston, right?”

“Yes. We have to get moving. You ready?”

The dark-skinned woman chuffed, her gaze unflinching. “I _been_ ready.”

“Okay, then.”

◄☼►

Overseers Johns, Henrichs, Melbourne, and Smith sat on the porch of one of the guardhouses playing cards, drinking, and laughing. They were off rotation.

“Well, show ya hand, boy, since you yappin’ on about whatchu got,” Johns exclaimed to Melbourne, grinning across the table. “Two dollars says you ain’t got _shit_.”

Melbourne shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Maybe we up the bet, is what I’m thinkin.”

“Yeah, maybe we should…”

“_Suh! Overseer suh!_” Overseer sir. A young slave woman hurriedly approached the guardhouse.

The four men gave their attention to her.

Johns, the senior guard in charge, stood and took the two steps to the yard. “Whatchu want, girl? Get on back to your quarters.”

The woman looked scared and distressed. “They’s in the stable, suh! A couple of men!”

Johns nodded to the others, and they all took up their weapons, heading for the stables. The woman trailed slightly behind them. The slave drivers reached the stable. On Johns’s call, they stormed inside, ready to engage intruders.

But all was quiet. The occasional shuffle or snort of a horse. The four slavers peered about. Everything appeared ordinary.

“What the hell…?” voiced Johns, starting to turn to the slave woman.

But she’d remained outside. The parted doors abruptly closed, immersing the slavers in glum shadows. Before they could act or their eyes could adjust, an arrow flew from the darkness and embedded in John’s skull, right through his eye. Charleston and his team made swift work of dispatching their foes without a single gun going off.

Makkonen braced his booted foot and yanked his axe from one of the bodies. He sneered down at the dead slave monger, then whispered. “We all still breathing?”

“Yep,” said Declan. He’d found it very enjoyable slitting that overseer’s throat.

The woman who lured the slavers there opened one of the large doors a crack and slipped inside. Large eyes took in the bodies.

“Good work, Mary.” Anna Jean moved from hiding.

The young woman nodded. She was scared but ready to run, to be free.

Anna Jean turned to the liberators. “There are a few others working with me. They’ll be gathering up those that want to leave here in the stables.”

“Alright,” Charleston said, nodding. “What about Cassidy? Where is he?”

“He’s in the big house,” she said, features visibly hardening in the shadows. “He’ll get his.”

“Damn right he will,” said Makkonen. “For now, I need to ask you something.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Makkonen.”

“Okay then, Makkonen. What is it?” Anna crossed arms over her chest.

The mountain man’s deep eyes fixed closely on hers. “A woman named Molly—is she still here? She’s the mother of Coralee.”

Cora and Makkonen talked a lot since they met, and over the course of that time, he’d learned the names of her mother and brothers, learned that Frederick was younger than her by three years and Robert was six years younger.

Anna tilted her head, smiling vaguely. “Coralee—she escaped a few years ago.”

“Yes, I know,” Makkonen smiled back. “What of her mother, her two brothers?”

Sadness crept over Anna’s face. “Come with me. I’ll take you to her.”

◄☼►

While Makkonen and Declan sneaked off with Anna Jean, Charleston and the others stayed in the stables, hiding and gathering runaways. The tribe-brothers followed Anna carefully for the slaves’ quarters, a place that consisted of several shacks near a large pond.

The three of them stopped with their backs pressed against one of the structures and surveyed the area. No one around but negroes. No overseers. Still, they had to be careful not to alert the slaves.

“Over here,” whispered Anna.

They followed her to one little house. She pulled the door open and they all went inside. Cowering at the back of the small single room, lowered in the corner, was a woman and boy not older than thirteen. They clung to each other in the ambient candlelight, watching Anna, Makkonen, and Declan cautiously. It was all around the slave quarters now that something was going down.

Anna moved forward slowly, speaking in hushed calmness. “It’s alright, Molly. These men are part of the liberation. Makkonen here has something to tell you.”

The large man stepped closer, and he couldn’t believe how blown his mind was getting. Even by the dimness of firelight, it was adamantly obvious that the woman before him was his wife’s mother. Her skin was a little darker, but there was no mistake. She had the same heart-shaped face and springy hair, even the same dimples in her cheeks. The woman looked like she could be Coralee’s sister rather than mother, and that was because Molly had Cora when she was fifteen, little more than a girl at the time. And her eyes…

“She looks just like you,” he uttered, staring. He formulated a tender smile. “She even has your eyes.”

They were the same searing, vibrant hazel.

Molly blinked at him, still holding her son close. “Whatchu talkin’ about?”

“Coralee.”

The woman’s eyes widened. She gasped, stood, and went to him. “You seen her? She’s alive? She’s okay?”

Makkonen’s smile deepened. He gently gripped her shoulders and nodded. “She’s doing just fine. She’s safe and protected up in the north with my tribe.”

Molly’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“I’m her husband.”

“Husband!” Molly breathed, her voice hindered, small hand going to her chest very similar to Coralee’s surprised gesture. She finally inhaled and smiled. “How is my sweet baby girl doin’? Though, I suppose she ain’t much of a baby no more, grown up and married.”

Back by the door to the tiny house, Declan’s ear was open. There was a lot of movement outside. The slaves were restless and curious. “Makkonen, we have to go. _Now._”

Makk nodded over his shoulder, then focused on Molly, large hands gripping her slim shoulders. “Molly, we have to leave this place. I’m taking you and the boys. You must be Robert,” he said to the boy behind her.

“Yes, suh.”

“None of that ‘sir’ business. Just call me Makk.” He looked to Molly again. “Where is Frederick?”

The petite woman closed her eyes for a moment. They were shrouded in unshed tears when they fixed on Makkonen again. “Dead. About a year after Coralee escaped, my Freddie tried to run. They caught him. Masta had him hanged...r-right in front of me…”

Her tears fell.

Makkonen pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Molly, you and Robert need to come with me.”

She shook her head, eyes moving between the large man, Anna, and Declan. “We can’t! Masta will take my other son! We can’t go!”

“Molly, don’t be afraid. I won’t let anyone hurt you or Robert. I will keep you safe and get you to the north, but you need to trust me. Can you do that? Please?” The mountain man spoke calmly to her, his gaze unflinching, backing up the promise he’d made.

A bout of silence ensued.

Declan glanced at the door, his tomahawk drawn and ready.

Molly finally nodded. “Alright.”

“Good,” said Makkonen. “Grab that bag over there and take that loaf of bread and any small things you can eat. Hurry. We need to get you two to the stable. Others are gathering to leave.”

◄☼►

Thirteen of thirty-three slaves had gathered in the stable, including Molly, Robert, Anna Jean, and Mary. Makkonen looked over them hastily, then turned to Anna.

“This is all? It’s not even half,” he said.

She shrugged. “Most of ‘em are too scared to run. Done had the fear of god put into ‘em.”

“We’ll just have to take who we have then,” said Charleston.

One of the slaves stepped forward, a man. He didn’t look too enthused about being freed. He shook his head, addressing Anna. “You know this ain’t gone work, Anna Jean. Them slavecatchers’ll be on ya’ll by morning.”

Anna looked squarely at him and snorted. “Jack. What are you even doing out here? Never figured you one to consider running, seeing as how you’re constantly under the massa’s feet like a little dog.”

Jack, a lithely-muscled man of medium build, sneered at her. “You watch who you talkin’ to, field nigga!”

There it was, those skin-color politics Coralee spoke of to Makkonen, how those who worked in the house looked down on those who slaved under the sun in the fields.

Anna’s features darkened. Everyone watched as she moved closer to Jack, eyes slowly roaming up and down his sorry figure. “You a pitiful creature, you know that. You got the chance to run and be free, _do_ something other than serve white people, and you just gone throw it away? Because you’re scared?”

“I said shutcho fuckin’ mouth,” Jack growled. He produced a twisted smile and started backing away. “Know what? I’mma just go let them overseers know what’s goin’ on here so they can shut it down.”

He turned and quickly started for the barn doors.

Before anyone could do anything, Anna swooped forward, smoothly swiping Makkonen’s long knife from his sheath. She ran up behind Jack and jabbed the blade into the base of his skull. Instant death. As gravity tugged his body to the ground, she yanked the knife free, staring down at it a moment. Now there were twelve runaways total.

Anna Jean turned to face everyone else, Jack’s blood dripping from sharp metal in her hand. “He was gone get us caught, and I ain’t tryin’ to get caught. I want to be _free_, ya’ll hear me? I mean to be. Death is better than stayin’ here. Anybody else wanna tell?”

The other slaves, Cora’s mother and brother included, shook their heads.

“Good,” said Anna sternly. “Let’s get the fuck on outta here then.”

She handed Makkonen his knife back.

The mountain man and frontiersman exchanged looks.

Declan lifted a brow, very amused and surprised by the woman. Clearly, Anna Jean was not the one to mess with. “_Shit_.”

“Right?” Makkonen retorted, sheathing his blade.

Outside a couple of gunshots went off. So much for getting in and out quietly. Yas’s team had engaged the remaining overseer guards.

Charleston turned to Atohi and Cornelius. “Get these people out of here. Like we planned. Declan, you’re with them. Keep them all safe.”

“Understood,” said the Cree Irishman.

Molly ran forward to Makkonen, worry stitched heavily over her features. “You ain’t comin’?”

He rubbed her arm. “I’ll meet up with you and the others. You and Robert will be alright with my friends. They’ll take care of you. I promise, Molly. It’s okay. Go on, now. I have one more thing to take care of here.”

“Masta Cassidy…” Molly said softly. “You mean to finish him.”

“That’s right. I do. For you, Frederick, Coralee, Miss Laura, and everyone else he’s ever hurt. He’ll never harm anyone ever again.” The mountain man pulled free the large axe from his back.

Molly nodded. She took his big hand in hers and squeezed. “Be careful.”

“I will. Now, go on.”

“I’ll see you shortly, brother,” said Declan.

Makkonen nodded at him. “Count on it.”

And so, the run began. Atohi, Cornelius, and Declan led the slaves through the removable panels at the back of the straw storage pen and crossed the eastern cotton fields for the woods.

Charleston, Delwood, Anna Jean, and Makkonen helped Yas’s team with the rest of the guards. One of Yas’s men was killed in the fight. Now, they took cover behind the stone wall surrounding the front yard of the main house.

“We killed the overseers, but I don’t think that’s all who was here tonight. A few of them most likely escaped. If that’s the case, Georgetown law men’ll be here within the hour,” said Anna Jean.

“Alright,” said Charleston quickly. “Yas, take everyone and meet up with the other group. Makkonen and I are going in for Cassidy.”

Yas nodded. “Hurry up and get out of there, eh?”

Charleston gave a crooked smile. “That’s the plan.”

Once the others sneaked off, Makkonen spoke to Charleston, “You ready to finish this?”

“That I am, brother, that I am.”

◄☼►

Felton Cassidy had been lounging in his study getting steadily drunk on good brandy when the first shots went off. He was sauced, but not so inebriated that he didn’t know what was going on. His plantation was under attack. And none of his guards had come.

The slave master dropped to the floor and crawled to the desk, pulling out a pistol, which he loaded. Just one shot. Keeping low, he made it from the room, listening to the anarchy outside. The gunshots and howls of rebellion. Up the curve of wide steps he staggered, sweating and breathing hard, looking over his shoulder, expecting the front doors to burst open any moment and the invaders to swarm in.

He reached the upstairs landing and ran for the one place he found to be most important. Andrew’s room. As angry and malicious as Felton could be, he valued his son above all. His flesh and blood who was to take over the plantation one day. Sliding on the polished tile, he came to the boy’s room and threw the door open.

He immediately noticed Andrew wasn’t in his bed.

“_Boy!_ Boy, where you at!” Felton called.

That’s when he heard a mewl coming from the far side of the wardrobe. The man rushed over and sighed in relief. Andrew was hunkered in the corner with Cordelia, wrapped in the slave’s arms, clinging to her.

“There you are. Let him go,” he ordered Cordelia.

Shivering, scared, she shook her head.

Felton frowned at her. “I said _give me the boy_. _Now, nigga!_”

Again, Cordelia denied him. She promised Miss Laura she’d keep him safe until it was over.

Fuming that the slave didn’t obey, Felton bolted forward and grabbed for the child, who had begun to cry into Cordelia’s chest. “_You give me my goddamn son, or so help me, I will beat the black off’a you!_”

“Nooo!” she screamed, holding tight to Andrew.

◄☼►

Makkonen and Charleston weren’t stupid. The house was quiet, but that didn’t mean all was safe. They made it to the porch and hid behind one of the large pillars, weapons ready. One of the front double-doors pulled open and Laura Cassidy peeked out.

Charleston moved from cover. “Miss Laura. It’s me, Charleston.”

They’d never met in person, each having been fed information about the other through covert avenues. A scream came from inside the house, upstairs.

“Hurry! Please hurry!” Laura cried, stepping aside. “He’s up there with my baby and Cordelia. Please help them!”

Laura ran across the grand foyer and up the steps. Charleston and Makkonen followed her.

_BLAM!_

A single gunshot.

Laura and the two liberators stopped for a moment, staring up at the second floor landing.

“No…” Laura had begun to cry. “No, no, no!”

Holding her skirts from the floor, she sprinted the rest of the steps.

Weapons ready, Makkonen and Charleston pursued.

“Miss Laura, wait!” called Charleston.

The woman did not wait. She ran directly to her son’s room. When she entered, she saw Cordelia sprawled on the floor, a large hole in her head. “_AAAAAHHH! NOOOOO!_”

Laura hurried to the body and hugged it. Cordie had been her friend, the one she confided in and talked to. The one who got her through the toughest days. She wept harshly for her.

Makkonen and Charleston burst into the room with guns aimed at Felton Cassidy. He sat on Andrew’s bed with the boy on his lap.

“Mama,” whined the five-year-old, squirming to get loose.

Laura finally sat up from Cordelia’s corpse. She snapped to awareness, hurrying to her feet. “Give me my son, Felton!”

He ignored her and focused on the two invaders in his home. “So, you two black sons-a-bitches wanna come up in my house and take what’s mine? You wanna take my slaves? Yeah, we’ll see about that. Just wait until the law gets here. I’mma see you both hang.”

“I doubt that,” growled Charleston, the sight of his rifle aimed on Felton’s head.

“What? You gone shoot me, nigga?” He released a brittle laugh, holding the boy up closer and tighter to him. “You gone shoot a little boy!”

“Felton, stop it!” screamed Laura. She was beyond grief. Now, she was furious, becoming gradually enraged. She roared and dove for the man, who was so taken off-guard that he released Andrew.

The boy ran back to his corner on the other side of the wardrobe and cried.

Laura took to scratching and tearing at Felton’s face, uncaring of her own life or the consequences. He’d put her baby’s life in danger, was willing to gamble with his innocent, little soul.

“Shit,” hissed Charleston, unable to get a clear shot with Laura on top of the target.

Makkonen put his gun down, unlatched his axe, and slowly approached the brawl.

Felton swung a punch that squarely struck Laura in the jaw, dazing her enough for him to roll on top. He started to choke her. “The fuck is wrong with you! You done lost yo mind, gone come at me!”

That was Makkonen’s opening. He rushed forward, swung his weapon and gouged Felton’s thigh.

The slaver screamed and flopped off his wife, grasping for the gushing wound on the back of his leg. Charleston hurried to Laura and pulled her to safety. The battered woman was tough, she went to her son and gathered him up, hugging him tightly, glaring at her piece of shit husband.

“You’re going to die, Felton Cassidy,” Laura said lowly, ominously. She even smiled. “And it’s my fault. I gave the Liberation all the information they needed to take this place, to free the slaves. It was me, and I wanted you to know that before you went to hell, you filthy son of a bitch.”

“Y-you?” He groaned and gritted his teeth in pain. “You fuckin’ bitch. I knew I should’ve killed you when—_YOOOW!_”

Makkonen abruptly kicked his wound. “Shut up.”

Breathing harshly, drooling with fury, Felton glared up at the mountain man.

“So, you’re the one who would bed his own niece.”

“Wh-whatchu say to me, nigga?” Every word and movement were a struggle for the slave master.

“Coralee. You remember her, don’t you?”

“You g-give her to me if you got her! _Hear me, boy!_”

Makkonen smiled darkly at him. The sorry sack of shit was under the impression he had control of the situation. “Oh, I have her, and she’s safe far in the north; you’ll never see her again. She’s my wife, and I give you this on her behalf, you disgusting fuck. Enjoy hell.”

Felton didn’t even have the energy to yell as the huge man lifted his Viking-style axe and brought it down cleanly, splitting his skull in two.

Laura didn’t flinch. She wanted to see the very end, keeping Andrew’s face pressed into her to shield his vision from the gruesome execution. She sighed away her anger and shifted back into mourning, for dear Cordelia. Tears fell steadily from her eyes.

Charleston also sighed. It was done.

Makkonen secured his axe to his back once more.

“Thank you,” Laura spoke softly. “Thank you…”

“My pleasure,” said Makkonen coolly.

“You two better leave now. Won’t be long before the law’s here?”

“You going to be alright, Miss Laura?” Charleston gently caressed her shoulder.

She nodded, smiling sadly. “Just fine. I’m free of him. I can’t thank you enough. Have a safe journey back up north, and give Coralee my best. I’m prayin’ for you.”

Both men nodded to her, then made a quick exit, heading for the rendezvous place.


	24. Broken Bonds of Friendship

Coralee strolled casually through the village on a beautiful summer’s day. Her gait held more of a waddle since she’d grown even bigger. The young woman smiled down at her enlarged stomach, more than seven months along now. She rubbed her hands over it to calm the little one fluttering around inside.

She crossed through the village square, preparing to sit on one of the sanded benches, when a couple of warriors whisked by speaking of a group approaching the village. They were on their way up the main trail and would arrive within an hour.

Cora hurried after them. “Excuse me!” she called.

The warriors turned.

“Who is it? Who’s coming?” She could hardly contain her excitement, shoulders rising and falling quickly with each breath.

“It is Piwan,” answered one of the warriors. “Her, her husband, and a few others.”

Cora’s features sank mildly with disappointment. She didn’t dislike Piwan or anything, but she was so hoping it was Makkonen coming back to her. The woman nodded to them, and they hurried off. Still, even though her husband wasn’t back yet, Cora felt it was only right to be there to greet Piwan.

◄☼►

So, Piwan had a husband.

After Cora calmed down, realizing it wasn’t Makkonen returning, the news settled in. She stood beside Miyotehew on the wide path leading out of the main gate, waiting for the party to arrive. When the group of seven finally moved into sight, finishing up the last of their trip, a broad smile lit the _okimaw’s_ features.

The group of seven was _actually_ a group of eight, counting the child growing in Piwan’s belly. The lovely native woman was further along than Cora and looked like she’d deliver soon. She spared a look to Coralee—and it wasn’t malicious but rather warm—then hurried forward into Miyotehew’s open arms.

As the two women hugged, the rest of the travelers moved in. One of them Cora knew well. Dimanche. He smiled softly at her and nodded. Cora returned the gesture. She was very happy to see him doing so well, considering the way he left their group all those months ago.

Miyotehew pulled back and scanned Piwan. “Goodness, look at you. So beautiful and full of life!”

“Yes,” Piwan grinned. “The baby will be here any day now. My husband and I are very excited.”

At that, Dimanche eased forward and hugged an arm around her. “I tried to get her to stay in the River Dweller village until after the baby was born, but she insisted on making the trip.”

So, Dimanche was her husband. Cora beamed at them, petite hands clasped over her pregnant midsection. It was good that Piwan had moved on and gotten over Makkonen. Cora thought she looked absolutely radiant, a far cry from the heartbroken bully she’d been before leaving.

“What a fine pairing,” Miyotehew went forward to hug Dimanche as well. “I’m so happy for you both. Come on. Get yourselves all turned in. It’s about time for the midday meal.”

The travelers got settled and migrated to the dining lodge.

◄☼►

Disregarding her usual dining lodge etiquette, Miyotehew sat at a table with Coralee, Dimanche, and Piwan. They talked casually as they ate, everyone passing information between them.

Piwan fixed her gaze on Cora across the table. She smiled a bit. “Looks like you’re not that far behind me.”

“I still have a couple of months,” said Cora. “I hope Makkonen makes it back before the baby comes.”

“Me too.” Piwan nodded slowly. “I assume he didn’t know you were with child before he left?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Well,” Piwan beamed, chuckling, “I know he’ll be very pleased to find he is a father.”

Coralee sighed dreamily, imagining the moment when her man would return. She woke up each morning just knowing it would be that day. It was like Makkonen and the idea of him had morphed into a dream that was almost within her grasp, almost solid and tangible.

The dining lodge bustled around them, busier than usual for lunch time.

Dimanche kissed Piwan’s forehead, continuing his meal.

Piwan happily nuzzled him, then looked seriously upon Cora. “Coralee...I know I was mean to you, and I…”

The southern beauty waved her hands dismissively. “No, you don’t have to say anything. We’re on good terms now, right?”

“Yes. I hope we can be friends.”

“Of course!” chimed Cora, chuckling.

“Good.” Piwan smiled deeply at her. She really did feel bad for how she treated Coralee, kicking over her laundry that day. The other woman had been guilty of nothing more than being the ultimate desire of Makkonen’s heart, the love of his life. Looking back on it, Piwan wished she had supported her large, handsome friend rather than alienate him. She’d make up for her childishness once he returned.

The meal continued on a light-hearted note.

Not even a week later, Piwan gave birth to her and Dimanche’s first child. A baby boy.

◄☼►

Twelve runaways.

That’s how many escaped from Sunset Fields plantation. Sadly, though, two were unable to keep up. Little six-year-old Sarah and her mother. The journey out of the deep south had been the roughest leg, and there was a lot of running and hiding involved. One night, Sarah’s mother went into a panic and ended up veering off from the group with her little girl in tow. Makkonen and the other liberators could do nothing but let them go, both crying hysterically. Going after them would’ve put the rest of the group in danger.

That was three months ago, and Makkonen could still hear the howls of the hounds tracking them through the woods, their noses adhering to the scent of mother and child. It chilled his blood to think of what the slavecatchers did to them. He didn’t know what was worse—being flayed on the end of a whip and inducted back into slavery or being lynched.

Honestly, he’d opt for death. There was no way he would survive in captivity. He was born free, wild as the wind, and no man would rule him. They’d kill him trying to break him.

Still…

His beautiful little Coralee had braved it. Luckily, she hadn’t been raped or beaten. She’d kept her head down and did what she was told. If she could do it, he supposed he could...if he had to.

The mountain man shifted from his thoughts and focused on Molly and Robert in front of him. Declan walked at point several paces ahead of them. They parted ways with Charleston, Atohi, Cornelius, Delwood, and Anna Jean two days ago in Montreal. The tough-as-nails woman decided that was where she wanted to start a new life. While in Montreal they heard of Benton’s execution. The other seven runaways had remained in New York.

All in all, Makkonen was satisfied with how his final liberation mission went. Now, it was time to get home to his wife, who would be very surprised and thrilled to see who he’d brought along. But not before a stop in Fort James. Declan wanted to check on things there.

◄☼►

Less than three weeks later, the pair of rugged outdoorsmen, Molly, and Robert, reached the rather bustling trading town. The weather was pleasant and not overly warm; Canada had one of the best summers. They set up camp down by the river, and when it was dark, Declan made his way into town.

He didn’t find Grace at her tavern. But Mary was there, and while she spoke with Declan in the storeroom at the back, Imogen and another woman tended to customers. Declan was there for less than five minutes before storming out the backdoor, sticking to the shadows as he glared his way towards the governor’s manor.

◄☼►

Grace couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t terribly late, but she’d decided to take the last few days off work to catch up on her shuteye. Oppositely, she was restless, her mind on her business and her money. It wasn’t that she thought Mary couldn’t manage the place in her absence. She was very capable. Grace was just the kind of person who couldn’t stay idle for long, even if she was owed a long-deserved vacation.

She stood at the counter in the kitchen fixing herself a snack by the dimness of lamp light—a piece of buttered bread and apple slices. She took up the plate and moved silently through the house for the den, where a fire burned in the hearth. Things were pretty silent and uneventful, especially with Jonathan away on business. A couple of soldiers patrolled the manor grounds, some lingering in the guard houses. Security was light otherwise.

Grace set the plate on the table between her and the hearth, settled on the couch, and drew her feet up. She stared into the flames and slowly ate on a slice of apple, pondering over multiple things.

“So—”

Grace gasped and spun around. Her wide eyes mellowed out when Declan melded from the shadows across the room, drawing further into the warm light. With the weather so pleasant, he wore a simple linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leather-etched trousers, and boots. His hair was still long and wild, and his beard had grown back.

“—it’s Mrs. _Chesterfield_ now?” He sounded angry, simmering. And he looked disgusted. “How could you marry him, Grace? _How?_”

She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised to see Declan. He had a way of sneaking up from the shadows. He’d done it all the time in her tavern, and now he was in her home.

Grace sighed and stood, facing him. “I havna seen ye in what—eight months?—and this is the greeting I get?”

Declan stared grievously at her. Her hair wasn’t the only thing that had changed; the fiery silk reached nearly to her waist now. Her demeanor had changed too. Something about her seemed...darker.

“Lady Chesterfield.” Declan adopted the ghost of a sneer. He shook his head. “I can’t believe you married him.”

“Yes, well, you did what you had to, and so did I.”

“_He’s on the same side as Benton! They’re no different!_” His words were low but heated.

Grace went to the liquor tray and poured a few sips of brandy. “Jonathan was _never_ on the same side as Benton.”

“Were you so upset that I chose Coralee over you that you had to run to him?”

Grace snorted a laugh, sipping her drink. “Really, Declan? It’s presumptuous of you to believe _any_ of my decisions were influenced by you. Did I love you once? Yes. But anything I felt for you gradually dissolved when I realized you loved her and that you would never love me back, and I knew I had to move forward for _me_. No one else, just me.”

Her words were enough to punch Declan into silence. All he could do was stare at her, the sensation of betrayal heavy upon his chest.

Grace continued. “Jonathan and I weren’t always so agreeable. Time changes people. It makes you closely examine your priorities. For Jonathan and I, it’s money. We have common goals. We’re more alike than we are different.”

She sipped her drink, eyes veering off to the flames dancing languidly in the hearth again. Her husband wasn’t a good man, yet he wasn’t the worst. Theirs was an agreement solidified predominantly by commerce. He controlled the product, the furs, and she managed the books. Just like he predicted, they all but owned Fort James, and the Hudson Bay Company was none the wiser. Jonathan treated his men well, paid them well, and they in turn looked after him. A perfect arrangement. Grace could even say she kind of loved her husband.

Declan’s voice cut through her fleeting thoughts. “I don’t even know you anymore. Tell me—does he have you as tightly wrapped around his cock as he does around his finger?”

The Irish beauty’s gaze slowly eased around to settle on him. She didn’t appear even a little fazed by his vulgarity. “I think it’s time for you to go. If I ever see ye around here again, I will alert the guards. I’m sure ye can see yourself out.”

Lady Grace Chesterfield finished her drink, set the cup to the desk, and silently left the den. Feeling like a piece of his heart had been chiseled loose and tossed in a meat grinder, Declan stood there stunned for a moment, before he slipped unseen and unheard from the premises.

◄☼►

Back at the camp, on watch and alert, Makkonen sensed Declan’s presence before the half Irish man stepped into the golden firelight, slipping through the foliage. As a rule, though, the mountain man had his rifle ready in his lap. Across the flames, Molly and Robert sat close together, the woman hugging her son.

Declan silently took a place by the fire, staring into it.

Makkonen saw by the look on his face that something was wrong. “What happened? Everything alright with Grace, Mary?”

Declan swallowed the lump in his throat, taking a deep breath. “Grace and I are over. We’re through.”

“What?” Makk knew his tribe-brother and the Irish barkeep had a solid friendship. He couldn’t believe it.

“Turns out she married that Chesterfield asshole.”

“Benton’s second?”

“Yeah,” Declan answered softly. “She’s changed. We spoke for a moment in the governor’s manor. She said she’d call the guards if she saw me around again.”

“Declan…” Makkonen just shook his head. “That doesn’t sound like Grace.”

The Cree Irishman’s eyes snapped around to him. “But it is her. She all but admitted that my falling in love with Coralee drove her away from me, away from our friendship. When we left the tribe to head south, during the time Captain Johnson was here and everyone found out you and Cora were married, Grace cornered me in the storehouse. Seeing as _I_ hadn’t gotten Cora, she finally told me she loved me, probably thought I’d do the same. Profess my love. But I told her we could never be more than friends. She’s been cold towards me ever since. I just...I never thought she’d marry the enemy.”

Makkonen sighed, listening to it all. “I’m sorry, brother. Maybe she just needs some time.”

“No.” Declan shook his head. “It’s really over between us. We can’t count on Grace to help us anymore. She might as well be part of the HBC as far as I’m concerned.”

Makkonen didn’t know how to respond, so he opted for silence. He truly hoped Declan was wrong, and that he and Grace could resolve their issues. Secretly, he always believed his half Irish brother would end up with her.

A quilt of silence stitched itself over the camp.

Molly had been listening intently. It sounded like an intricate love triangle, at the center of which was her daughter. She spoke softly to Declan, trying not to sound as if she were prying. “So...you love Coralee too?”

Declan continued watching the fire. “I figured since she met me first, was closer to me, that she’d eventually accept me as more than a friend. Then, she met him.” He nodded to Makkonen.

“I see.” Molly nodded. Robert had laid out beside her with his head in her lap. She stroked his brow tenderly. “Well, I’m sure it was a hard decision for her, choosing between two good men like yourselves.”

“Looking back, I’m sure she was conflicted,” Declan said. “She’d chosen Makkonen and didn’t want to hurt me. Even now, I...I can’t deny that I still love her.”

That wasn’t news to Makkonen. Declan’s feelings for the mountain man’s wife ran deep; he’d always love her. However, Makkonen knew well that Declan would never do anything to come between him and Coralee. He wasn’t worried about that.

The silence swooped back in again. Makkonen assumed watch for a couple more hours, before Declan took over. The four of them set out bright and early the next day.


	25. The Prince's New Heir

Every home in the village, every tipi, had a yard. Some people made their own personal gardens, others carved art out of wood to display. Piwan and Dimanche had a large padded bench in their yard. The man was away with the fishing team down at the lake.

Piwan sat on the bench nursing their two-week-old son, smiling brightly down into his little face, his tiny mouth latched to her nipple. Coralee sat beside mother and child, hands folded over her enlarged belly as she enjoyed the beautiful day. Watching Piwan with the baby warmed her heart.

The southern woman giggled. “He’s so cute.”

“Yes, he is,” said Piwan, cooing at the baby. She looked over at Cora, eyes flashing down to her bulge. “This will be you soon.”

“And, oh, how I can’t _wait!_ I’ve mostly enjoyed being pregnant, never felt so beautiful in my whole life. But I’m ready to spit this baby out already.”

Piwan churned out laughter. “I felt the same. I suppose it’s that way with every woman.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Cora smiled off at nothing, tenderly rubbing her stomach. Her eyes caught onto Miyotehew, who hurried along the tipi-lined path for them, an uncontainable smile on her face.

“They’ve come back!” the _okimaw_ exclaimed, eyes twinkling at Cora. “Declan and Makkonen have almost reached the village!”

Coralee gasped, and her heart leapt and fluttered in her chest. She mewled and stood, then quickly looked down at Piwan.

Piwan grinned widely at her, shooing her along. “Go on! I’ll catch up after I’ve fed the baby.”

“Okay!” The southern beauty quickly hit the path and started through the village for the main gate with Miyotehew beside her.

“Coralee, slow down,” said the older woman. “Don’t get yourself worked up.”

“My man is back! _He’s back!_” Cora sang happily, tears in her eyes.

Miyotehew chuckled. “Yes, and it would do no good if you took a tumble before he could even get into the village. Slow down some, _nina_.” _Nina_ was short for _ninahahkaniskwem_. Daughter-in-law.

Coralee did as Miyotehew said, reducing her fast-paced stride, but only a little. By the time they reached the main gate, villagers had already begun to gather on the wide path to welcome their warriors back from a long and dangerous journey. Sokanon and Michael smiled at Cora when she and Miyotehew took up a place near them.

Small talk and low-volume conversations ebbed from those gathered.

Though not from Coralee. The young woman watched the path beyond the gate adamantly, all but trembling with elation. She took deep, long breaths, waiting. Waiting.

And then two figures crested the hill and moved fully into view, followed by a couple of scouts. Makkonen and Declan. Coralee mewled, the tears in her eyes finally falling. Her small hands clasped before her mouth. She could hardly believe he was back.

The closer Makkonen got, the easier it was to see the huge, brilliant smile burned to his handsome features. Dressed similarly to Declan for the warmer weather, the mountain man had also regrown his beard. His hair was a few inches longer than when he left, the dark, thick waves flowing over his shoulders and down his back.

He crossed through the gate, and Coralee, unable to contain herself, hurried forward. Not running, but fast. He saw that her hair was a bit longer too, and it gave him the greatest joy to see the fullness of her belly under the flowing dress she wore.

Makkonen met her half-way, open arms clamping around her. The couple embraced one another tightly in silence. The rest of the world shrank away into blackness in that moment, and there was nothing but the two of them. Coralee sobbed into his chest. She sniffled and pulled back to smile up at him. Makkonen caressed her face, then separated by an arm’s length to drag eyes down to her bulging midsection.

“My precious Cora. Look at you…” There were tears in his eyes.

Coralee cried some more, laughing. “Seems you left me with a little something before you headed off.”

“Yeah, looks like it. I missed you so much. I’ll never leave you again. Not ever.” Makkonen pulled her close once more, breathing in her scent, basking in her essence. Then, he dropped to one knee and hugged her, kissing her stomach.

Miyotehew watched her son and daughter-in-law proudly, a few tears squeezing loose.

Makkonen finally stood and kissed Coralee again. There would be plenty of time for the two of them to catch up and talk, and for him to get acquainted with the little life growing inside her. For now, he moved from his wife to his mother and the rest of his awaiting friends, all of whom hugged him in.

Coralee shifted to Declan, wrapping arms around his middle, hugging. “I’m so glad you’re back safely.”

“Good to be back. Real good.” Declan kissed the top of her head, then retracted to get a better look at her. His smile was genuine and a little sad. He wished it were his child that she carried. “You look beautiful. Motherhood suits you.”

Cora chuckled. “Truth be known, I’m just ready to have this baby and be done.”

The frontiersman’s smile deepened, and he quirked a brow. “Doesn’t look like it’ll be long now.”

They watched each other a moment longer, then Declan moved to Miyotehew, Sokanon, Michael, Krem, and the others to receive the same loving welcome as Makkonen. When Declan got around to Piwan holding her son, he grinned.

“Wow! A baby! He’s a good-looking boy. Who is the father?”

“Dimanche.”

Declan hadn’t expected that answer, and not because he thought Dimanche an unworthy mate. He didn’t think the man would return to the Forest Cree village after what happened between them. Seems that when he left the group back then, he returned to the River Dweller tribe and married Piwan. Funny how things worked, Declan thought. He was glad Dimanche was around. He could apologize to his friend for striking him.

Miyotehew stepped forward, eyes going between Declan and Makkonen. The seasoned older woman beamed, exuding happiness. “Are our newest citizens ready to enter the village?”

The _okimaw_ received the full report of their return from scouts almost two hours ago. Two others traveled with Declan and Makkonen, an extension to her family it would seem.

The mountain man and the frontiersman exchanged smiles and nods, then Makkonen strode back to the open gate and released a loud whistle down the path. A moment later, a group of scouts moved into view, cresting the tree-flanked hill. It was obvious that they were shielding a couple of people behind them, their identities obscured.

Smiling broadly, Makkonen went to stand beside Coralee, who hugged around his middle, intently watching the group approach. It was highly irregular to receive new citizens without even having them go through the screening process, let alone _two_ new citizens.

Cora bobbed left and right, trying to see the two newcomers. She looked up at Makkonen, brow pinched faintly. “Who are they?”

“Oh, just a couple of people I know you’d love to see.”

“Hm?”

Makkonen nodded at the scouts, and the six of them dispersed.

Coralee almost dropped to the ground, small hands yanking to her mouth, large eyes filling with tears. “_Mama! Robbie!_ _Oh my god! Mama!_”

“_Coraaa! My sweet girl!_”

Molly and Robert shot forward, and Coralee whipped for them. The trio embracing and crying. Everyone certainly felt the emotion riding the air heavily, captured in the tears of rejoice from the three family members.

Sokanon wasn’t a woman of many tears, but she couldn’t contain the thin streams leaking from her eyes then. Coralee had been separated from her family for years, having escaped and left them enslaved in the south. Now, they were together again. It was certainly an occasion that called for tears.

Coralee pulled back to stare at her mother and brother again, unable to believe they were really there. Free! She frowned softly, looking around them, lovely hazel eyes scanning. “Where is Frederick?”

The expression on Molly’s face spoke dimensions.

Coralee covered her mouth, shaking her head.

“I’m sorry, baby,” said Molly softly. “Mastah Cassidy had him hanged for trying to run a year after you got away.”

“No…” Cora gasped, eyes shutting, tears falling. Her hand went to her rounded belly.

Makkonen went forward for support, arm linking around her.

“No, no, no…” Cora sniffled. “He was just a boy, only fourteen. _How could that son of a bitch do that! HOW!_’

“_Apaskwaniy_, please calm down,” Makkonen said gently.

She cried into his chest a moment before the details of his mission finally dawned on her. She pulled back and shone wet eyes up at him, wonder parting her pretty lips. “Y-your last mission was to Sunset Fields?”

Makkonen nodded. “When I found out from Charleston, I really wanted to tell you, but I didn’t want to raise your hopes, in case I couldn’t get your family out. Well...I managed to save most of them.”

“Oh, Makkonen…” Cora breathed, reaching to grip his face. “You really are the most wonderful husband. Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

Her frown returned. “What happened with...Cassidy.”

“He’ll never own another slave,” Makkonen said gravely.

“He get the end of your axe?”

“He did.”

Cora nodded and sighed, the anger melting away to heartbreak for her brother. “Good.” She took a long breath, conjured a smile that was fringed in sadness, and went back in to hug her mother and youngest brother.

The three of them embraced and wept for as long as they needed, then Miyotehew stepped up. One hand touched Robert’s arm, one resting on Molly’s. “I’m very happy to have you with our tribe. If you do not already know, I’m Miyotehew. Makkonen’s mother and leader to our people.”

“Oh, yes, we know who you are,” said Molly with a smile. “Makkonen’s told us a lot about you. I’m honored to finally meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” Robert responded softly, unsure of their new surroundings yet getting the distinct feeling that they were safe.

Miyotehew chuckled a bit, rubbing the young man’s arm. “No need to be shy. We’re family, you and I. Are you ready to see your new home?”

Robert perked at her. “We get a house?”

“Well, it’s a tipi. But yes, it will be yours and your mother’s. Come on, we’ll get you settled in, alright?”

Robert nodded and took the _okimaw’s_ offered hand. She started them walking further into the village. Molly and Coralee fell in behind them, the daughter hugging her mother tightly. Makkonen went with them, while Declan disappeared to his place.

A grand feast would be held that night not only to welcome Makkonen and Declan home, but to welcome Molly and Robert to the tribe.

◄☼►

The feast was grand indeed. Coralee didn’t believe she’d seen one as big since the night Makkonen married her without her knowledge. From what she recalled of that night, before the drink set in, the dining lodge had been very busy with villagers, barely a seat left unoccupied as they cycled in and out during the feast.

It was the same tonight with the return of Makkonen and Declan, the new arrivals of her mother and brother. Coralee felt like she was floating in a dream, sitting beside her husband, her mother and brother across from her, Miyotehew and Declan present as well. She’d envisioned a moment just like this more times than she could count.

The young woman drifted from her thoughts and back into the conversations at the table, the constant, jubilant chatter through the lodge. Makkonen chewed a few bites of food, then hugged around her shoulder and kissed her brow. He’d been busy settling back in most of the day and hadn’t gotten to spend quality time with her yet.

Cora smiled and nuzzled him, then ate another small bite of her meal.

“You need to eat more,” Makkonen remarked, watching her with a smile.

“Your man is right, baby girl,” entered Molly, smiling broadly at them. “You’re eating for two and you need to make sure you take in a good amount, or that baby will have you drained.”

“I assure you that I’m getting more than enough food, mama,” Cora chuckled.

The merry banter continued.

Declan ate in silence and listened. His gaze once again went to Dimanche and Piwan’s table. The River Dweller smiled and said something to his wife that Declan couldn’t hear, then stood and went to the tables of food. He started making another helping.

The frontiersman cleared his throat, rose, and went to the tables as well. Dimanche noticed him after a moment and set the plate down. They watched each other in silence.

“I was surprised to hear about you and Piwan.” Declan decided to break the silence. He conjured a faint smile. “I’m happy you two are together.”

“Thanks.”

Declan sighed greatly. He would always regret hitting his friend on that fateful night. He moved in and hugged Dimanche, speaking in a low, rasped voice, “I’m sorry, brother.”

Dimanche immediately returned the hug. “It’s okay. We were both feeling the loss of Samoset very deeply. I shouldn’t have pushed you. We’re good now, right?”

“_Damn_ right,” Declan said, patting his shoulder. “You and Piwan got room at that table? I was thinking I could join you, catch up on things?”

Dimanche smiled warmly and nodded. “Plenty of room. C’mon.”

“Okay.”

The River Dweller returned to the table to give Piwan her second plate. Declan grabbed his plate from the table with Cora and the others, then joined Dimanche and Piwan.

The feast continued for another hour before the night mellowed out.

◄☼►

A short while later, Coralee and Makkonen stood outside a tipi with Molly and Robert. The young woman moved in to hug her mother and brother tightly. A huge grin adorned her face when she pulled back.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” Cora said.

“Well, we certainly are. Thanks to your man, Declan, Charleston, and those other brave folks,” said Molly. Her hazel eyes drew around the area, and she nodded. “I know we’ll get along here just fine. Whatchu think, Robbie hon? You like it here so far?”

Robert had always been a quiet boy, and even more so since escaping the plantation. Molly knew it’d take time for him to put his guard down and get used to being free. He nodded. “Yes, mama. I like it a lot. Say, Makkonen—you think I can learn to use an axe like you?”

The mountain man chuckled. “I don’t see why not. Go ahead and get settled in, then I can start training you with a hatchet first, start you light. That is, if it’s okay with your ma.”

Robert’s bright eyes shot to Molly, hopeful and pleading.

The woman nodded. “Of course, it’s okay. Gotta learn to take care of yourself and our new home, don’tcha?” She chuckled.

“Thanks, mama!” Robert beamed.

“No. Thank you for always being my sweet boy.” She kissed his cheek, having to crane her neck to do so. Her son was several inches taller than her. “Alright, let’s get on in here and get to bed, let your sister and her husband head home.”

“Okay. Goodnight, ya’ll.” Robert turned, pulled back the flap, and went inside.

“Goodnight, Robbie,” said Cora softly.

“Goodnight,” Makkonen voiced.

“If you need anything, mama, me and Makkonen are just up the path. Six tipis down on the right. Okay?”

“Yes, honey. Now, you go get yourself some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Molly hugged her daughter again. “I love you.”

“Love you too, mama.”

Molly went inside the tipi.

Makkonen took Coralee’s little hand, and they walked to their place. “It feels so good to be home again, to be back with you.”

She smiled, sighed, and pulled closer, hands clutched to the solidity of his arm. “I’ve thought of you every day, missed you something terrible. I’m very happy you're back safely.”

The couple stopped in front of their tipi and shared a passionate kiss, then headed inside. Coralee lowered to the bed of furs and rested on her side, lips curling a luscious smile while she watched her husband undress.

“Mm, I will never get enough of the view,” she drawled.

Shirtless, Makkonen turned to her and kicked off his boots. His strong, sure fingers worked the ties of his trousers. He grinned seductively. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

He slowly peeled the pants off, revealing that the powerful, ample center of his masculinity had begun to firm up.

Coralee giggled, shaking her head. “How can you be excited to look at me right now. I’m so fat.”

The mountain smirked and lowered right against her. “You’re not fat. You’re pregnant. And I wouldn’t mind if you packed on a little more anyway, you’re so petite.”

“Yeah, well, I feel fat,” she huffed, then lay on her back.

“You look just _fine_, Cora. Beautiful as ever,” Makkonen droned, lowering his mouth to hers, striking up a lusty kiss.

Cora smiled and swooned, indulging him a moment. Then, small hands met his chest, stilling him. She lifted a brow, staring up into his dark, sultry eyes. “You really wanna...do it?”

The man grinned broadly. “Oh, yeah. I mean, only if you want to.”

She certainly wanted to. Her feminine core had grown wet and ready just watching him disrobe. She might’ve been a couple months from squeezing out a baby, but her sex drive hadn’t gone anywhere.

“Okay.” Coralee slipped a hand into his lush, thick mane and pulled him into another sizzling kiss.

Makkonen groaned lowly, the guttural, feral sound, vibrating against Cora’s lips, making her swoon. She doubted she’d ever find him any less desirable than the day they met. The young woman moaned and sat up so the two of them could maneuver her boots, dress, and underclothes off. Makkonen took a moment to admire her fertile nudity, her full breasts and rounded stomach, which he lowered to kiss, clutching her to him.

“You’re so beautiful, Coralee. You always will be to me. Never doubt that.”

Then, he ran his hand slowly across her hip, down her thigh, eliciting a round of goosebumps upon her skin. Coralee shivered at his sensuous touch, leaning back as he positioned himself on top of her. Being careful to keep his weight supported by his strong arms, Makkonen kissed her deeply, gradually easing his hard heat into her ready and waiting warmth. He trembled against her, buried fully.

The couple proceeded to make love, and it was little more than five minutes into the act that he went taut and exploded into her.

“Sorry, _apaskwaniy_,” Makkonen groaned, forehead dropping to hers. “Been a while.”

Cora chuckled, hands running slowly up and down his back. “Yes, I know. It’s okay, my love.”

He rolled from her and settled on his back. She nestled against him.

“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be ready to go again.”

“Is that so?” Cora purred.

“Mm.” Makkonen grinned.

“Oh, it’s really okay.” She sighed gratefully, closing her eyes, face nuzzling his chest. “I’m just happy to have you here with me again, to smell you and feel you. To hear your voice and taste you. It’s all I need.”

Makkonen smiled up at the tipi’s ceiling, large hand going to her stomach. “I know. But I still want to pleasure you. Eight minutes now.”

Coralee burst into laughter, her head popping up so she could look in his eyes. “You’re so silly.”

“You love it.”

“Yes, yes I do.”

◄☼►

A couple of days lazily slipped by, with Coralee getting reacquainted with Molly and Robert, and the two of them getting comfortable in their new home. As with anyone else, they’d be assigned chores that contributed to the community based on their skills. Robert could do most anything, while Molly’s expertise was food. She’d put herself to work with the groups who prepared the meals, cured meats, preserved fruits, baked breads.

With Makkonen off on a hunting party, Coralee decided to make her way to her favorite sitting place. When she shifted through the thin foliage to the large grassy shelf overlooking the lake and forest, she saw Declan sitting on the carved toppled log. His back was to her as he took in the scenery.

He heard the woman’s shuffling footsteps and looked over his shoulder, offering a soft smile, scooting to make room for her.

Coralee lowered with a grateful sigh, hands settling on her belly. The two of them admired the view for a moment, before she spoke. “Makkonen told me about what happened with you and Grace. I’m so sorry, Declan. How you gettin’ along?”

The frontiersman wafted a low sigh, eyes dropping to the ground. He shrugged. “I’m alright. This was the last thing I ever expected to happen with her. I mean, she’s helped me and the resistance so much…”

He shook his head.

“You don’t think there’s a chance to fix it, that she might ever want to make up?”

Again, he shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s literally in bed with our enemy now, and there’s no way to predict what would happen if I tried to contact her again.”

Coralee’s thoughts drifted to that night in Fort James when she had to hide in the Ale House kitchen to dodge Captain Chesterfield. Even then she got the idea that something deep had formed between him and Grace, from the tone of the conversation. Obviously, they were trying to frame Benton by boggling the HBC books, and it worked. Once the captain left, Grace asked Cora not to say anything about the meeting, and she hadn’t. And she’d continue to keep it to herself, since it wouldn’t make a difference if she told Declan or not.

The young southern woman scooted closer to him, rubbing his arm. “I think it would be best to avoid Fort James for a while, let things settle down. Even if Grace did threaten to tell the guards if you went around, you have to believe there’s a part of her that still cares about you. Maybe she just needs some time to remember that.”

“Mm.” Declan mused deeply, nodding. His gaze swayed around to her, and he lifted a small smile. “Maybe.”

Coralee returned the smile, then leaned to rest her head on his shoulder.

◄☼►

The summer days were long, hot, and filled mostly with sunshine. Before Coralee knew it, another month and a half had drifted by. Though she was expected to be taking it easy and resting so late in her pregnancy, she still tended to most of her chores.

She stood by a line in the laundry yard hanging clothing, humming to herself.

Less than an hour later, Makkonen walked up, hugging her from behind.

Coralee chuckled and turned to him. “I was just finishing up here. You were supposed to meet me in the dining lodge.”

“Yeah, I know, but I couldn’t wait to see you again,” he droned, looking down lovingly at her.

“Pssh. You saw me this morning.” She grinned and finished hanging the last pair of trousers.

Makkonen shrugged. “Seems so long ago to me. C’mon, _apaskwaniy_. Let’s get some food in you.”

The couple started for the dining lodge, making their way across the village. Coralee waddled happily along, until an unfamiliar, foreign tightness seized the lowest area of her abdomen. She stopped and winced.

Makkonen whipped to face her, hands on her shoulders, face trimmed in seriousness. “Are you okay? You need to sit for a moment?”

Coralee took a breath. Exhaled slowly. Repeated twice more. She finally smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m fine, my love. Let’s get to the lodge. I’m starving.”

He chuckled. “Okay.”

They resumed their pace and got not even ten feet before another unpleasant sensation struck her core. She cried out and staggered. Makkonen held her carefully, steadying her.

“Cora…”

“Oh my god. My stomach is tight.” Her hand pressed to it, rubbing. She gasped and trembled.

“The baby?”

“I...I....” Her eyes widened and dashed downward. A bit of wetness flowed down her leg and over her boot, transparent liquid. “Yes.”

“Okay-okay-okay. Don’t panic. We’ll just, uh, get....” The mountain man paced a moment, then turned and started heading in one direction, only to immediately spin back to her, breathing deeply.

Coralee released some shaky laughter, slightly hunched over. “You’re the one panicking. Help me to the birthing house.”

“Sorry, my heart.” Makkonen gave an unsure grin, taking her arm to support. “Are you scared?”

“Yes, but I’m _so_ ready to have this”—a wince when another contraction shot through her—“baby,” she grunted.

“Me too!”

Coralee sent narrowed eyes up at him, breathing in and out as calmly as she could. “You ain’t the one that’ll be pushing it out.”

Makkonen met her accusatory glare and decided it would be best if he just shut his mouth for the time being.

◄☼►

Things elevated quickly. The contractions were hitting every few minutes by the time Makkonen and Coralee reached the birthing house. The structure was constructed of wood and strategically set on the east side of the village, slightly away from other structures. And it was set apart for good reason. To keep the woes of delivering mothers contained so as not to cause distress to villagers.

Down the path from the house, Makkonen paced back and forth, stopping momentarily when another agonizing cry came from inside. Coralee. She’d been in labor for four hours. The mountain man sighed greatly and started pacing again.

Declan, Dimanche, and Michael were there, all three watching him ease left to right, his face riddled with worry, brow creased.

“Makkonen,” said Declan.

“Huh?” His dark eyes drew to his tribe-brother.

“It’s gonna be alright.” Declan lifted a faint smile.

“She sounds...terrible.”

“Remember when Nuna had Mikinok in that same house?” the frontiersman inquired. Makkonen had been out there with him that day while _he_ paced back and forth. “Same sounds. And she came through fine. It’ll be alright.”

“He’s right, brother,” said Dimanche. “Just keep calm.”

Michael merely smiled, stepped forward, and firmly gripped the large man’s solid shoulder.

Makkonen’s eyes roamed to each of his friends, and he finally took a breath and nodded. Another scream came from the house, making him spin around. “Oh, boy.”

◄☼►

The contraction passed. Gathering large, swooning breaths, Coralee loosened her grip on the horizontal bar mounted in the floor, used for leverage while pushing the baby out. She closed her eyes, maintaining her squat over a clean batch of linens. She wore a long, plain shirt that barely reached her bottom, which needed to be exposed.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, rocking a little.

Sokanon was there to steady her. “You’re doing good. Keep breathing.”

Molly reached to blot her sweaty brow. “Hang in there, baby girl. Like Sokanon said, you’re doing so good.”

Miyotehew was also present. The _okimaw_ didn’t attend every birth in the village, but there was no way she would miss this one. Her first grandchild. The spiritual woman refreshed the water basin beside Sokanon, then picked her strange, mystical item up once more, tipping it slowly side to side. It was a branch that had been intricately carved, and it created a sound like raindrops on a lake’s surface when she tilted it to and fro, chanting.

Coralee tensed, squeezed her eyes shut, and clenched the bar in her little hands. “Oh god! Mmmwaaaahhh!”

“There you go! Keep pushing,” coached Sokanon. The woman put her hand under Cora, carefully feeling. “The head is crowning! Almost there! Keeping pushing. Molly, hold her steady.”

“No, no I can’t!” Cora pleaded, ready to give up and lay down.

“Yes, you can,” Molly comforted, holding her daughter up, while Sokanon maneuvered to guide the baby out. Push!”

Coralee groaned and gritted her teeth, pushing with every ounce of strength she had. Then the pressure eased, and Molly helped her lay back on the linens. Cora saw that Sokanon held a tiny, naked, slimy person. The newborn had been flipped to its stomach and draped carefully to straddle her forearm, its tiny arms and legs dangling. The umbilical cord still connected it to its mother.

Miyotehew and Molly looked on excitedly.

Tears filled Cora’s eyes. She was happy to see her baby but scared because the child wasn’t moving.

Then...the baby kicked out and screamed, crying.

Everyone in the house exhaled as one and happy tears commenced. Sokanon used a hot, clean blade to cut the cord and cauterize it, then she wrapped the baby and gently passed it to Coralee’s anxiously waiting arms.

“It’s a girl!” Sokanon squeaked. She wasn’t usually so soft, but babies always brought out the maternal instinct in her.

Coralee cuddled the baby to her bosom and kissed her tiny head. Tears of joy streamed from her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re finally here,” she sniffled.

The baby had gone silent, most likely enjoying the warmth of her mother and the sound of her voice from the outside. The baby mewled.

Molly, Miyotehew, and Sokanon gathered around the new mother and her child.

◄☼►

When Sokanon, Miyotehew, and Molly exited the birthing house a short while later, Makkonen’s heart lurched and his stomach trembled. He was nervous.

Sokanon went over to him, grinning. “Are you ready to meet your new daughter?”

The mountain man’s eyes went wide, his large hands gripping her shoulders. “It’s a girl! I have a girl!”

Sokanon nodded, still smiling.

Declan, Michael, and Dimanche moved to hug Makkonen, then he hurried for the house, slipping inside. He found Coralee resting on a clean bed of furs and sheets holding their child. Both had been cleaned up.

Makkonen lowered beside them and kissed his wife, then focused on the baby, whose eyes were open and observing nothing in particular. A thick crown of dark hair topped her little head.

“You want to hold her?”

The man grinned and waited as Cora transferred the baby to him. His eyes grew teary as he gazed at the tiny person in his arms. “She’s perfect, Cora. You did so good, my heart.”

“_We_ did good.” The young woman smiled tiredly.

“Yeah, we sure did.”

Coralee rested her head against Makkonen’s arm, smiling tenderly to hear him cooing and talking to the baby. She knew he would be a great father.

Makkonen tilted to kiss the top of Cora’s head. His tough, smart, one-of-a-kind little woman, whom he loved more than anything. Before crossing paths with her, he never imagined to be where he was then. Happily married and a father. But Coralee had changed him, and for the better.

His heart had been wild, yet she tamed it, and it would be forever hers.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is dedicated to Ayla/Bull and Ariel/Finn, since Coralee/Makkonen are just another version of you.


End file.
